stillness, quiet, nothing. the mind of a regretful someone coming to terms with his own self worth. comparing who i am now to who i was then is a long desolate highway made up of every road trip i was too scared to take. still, it’s nights like this i lie awake wondering what it means not to simply be alive, but to live.
for me being alive isn’t about living a dangerous life. it isn’t about jumping out of planes or scaling the side of a mountain. it’s the emotional weight of six ropes of cum on a human stomach. it’s lying naked on the floor staring up to a blank ceiling and realizing that you regret everything you’ve done for the last six months of your life. because it’s those flaws that make you weak, and it’s those flaws that make you human, and right now i can’t think of anything more beautiful than when you compared me to a fox because i know that’s exactly what i am. that’s me, i have the nervous demeanor of a fox.
in short, being alive isn’t about living a dangerous life. sometimes there’s comfort in simplicity, in being normal, in hating yourself. sometimes being alive is the realization that you don’t want to die anymore paired like a fine wine with the determined confidence that you’ll never want to again. and just like that, with tears in your eyes, you’ve said it. “i don’t want to die anymore.”