Feels of My Last Breath

Will they care about when he is dead?

I guess they’d care about him the most when he is about to die. Because they would think there’s a time for departure. There’s a time for every damned thing. But, do they care how many deaths he has lived just for their sake. Just because he did not want to let them down. No, they don’t. They never did. They never asked him if there is anything that is worrying him from the inside. They never asked him if he is fighting depression the harder way. All they cared about is the stated factuality of him never being enough. Never living up to the mark. All they want from him is to live his life the way they wanted. The way people around would ask them about. They never appreciated the good things he did in his life. To himself. To the people around him. Never. They never asked him about the degree of difficulties he faced because of a few anserine humans. They never asked him how these five years of constant ignition on self-possession were!

But, how tonight surpassed just like that? How hard was it to just plainly hold the phone and ask him if he’s doing alright? Just a split of a second. Why do they presume that with age, people should be less sensitive, less emotional, less worrying. Why?

And the only reason why he feels everything so close tonight is because he is afraid, he might die any moment. Sooner. Leaving everything unfinished.
And the next time you wonder why he lives such a solitary life, ask yourself for once , “Does he deserve any care, any attention?”
“NO”, shall scream to your face.

And when my last breath has been taken, I want to die for everything that I have lived for. For once and all.

It might take some time. But, eventually it will be fine. Because everybody forgets. Time is such a bliss. It doesn’t let you grow older. It only grows you fonder. More familiar. And moreover_

“Silence, won’t mean ‘I am gone’.
Quiet, won’t mean ‘I am dead’.”

So, one fine day, if I at all mattered to you at some point, just remember_

“One day I’m going to stop writing. One day I am going to stop liking what I am investing most of my time in. One day I am going to stop loving and forcing myself into trying to be there. One day I’m going to stop existing even. One day… I am simply going to disappear. I am simply going to say_ ‘Good Bye‘.”

But, then again_

The good thing is_ “No ‘Good Bye’ is the last one.

And the bad thing is_ “You never know which one is the last one.”

Raconteur– Saiz