*It's nothing really special, just a few thoughts that crossed my mind. And while they did so, someone went by and put that lil paper down at my table. *

~ To the one whose name means little bird ~

Alive….

Life is a strange thing and maybe I should be more thankful to still have one than I am.

It just passes me by as if it didn't really care about me being here or not.

And I don't either.

What is it that makes it so special? To get up everyday, wake up from a dream that cannot last and never come true, somehow making it through the day just to face another night that will scare me to death? Like the one before and the one before that one back to the time I survived. That day that is so far away and yet seems so close.

Like it had been yesterday.

Time doesn't really matter anymore. Nothing does. I spend it with meaningless things, just to get on, destination unknown. Well, not so unknown actually. Isn't it funny that one fine day I will end just exactly where I managed to escape from three months ago? This thought makes me laugh sometimes; laugh at the inevitability of things happening.

I sit at my computer and surf through the net, searching for nothing in particular, just passing time. Another day, another night, a week – I don't really care. Sometimes I get up, outside, to smoke a cigarette. For I am not constantly used to it, it makes me feel quite dizzy when I inhale the nicotine, taking it deep into my lungs. I love the way it explodes in my head, making me feel light.

I hate losing control but it's just that what I do when I smoke or drink. It's not important what it does to my body or my sanity. I could be dead by now, I could get knocked over by a car just the very moment I leave my house.

So why not?

Of course eating a chewing gum afterwards so no one I know will know and hope the smell of smoke will be gone when I meet them. Or have a good excuse so they won't ask me, torture me with their never ending questions.

To keep the mask I'm wearing.

I watch people passing me by – what do they know? I'm sure they wouldn't care even if. I know they won't. They all seem to be so busy, busy with living.

Living.

I silently repeat the word a few times; trying to find something positive about it, but still it has the sound of 'livid'. 

I get back to my terminal, to spend some more insignificant hours there, before I get back home, waiting for the night to come and hope to have enough alcohol left to pass it. You might say I'm weak, but I don't think you are right. After all it wasn't me who cut his wrists deep enough to make the final step. It wasn't me taking the overdose. It wasn't me hanging myself in the attic. It wasn't me jumping off the bridge. It doesn't mean that I despise you – it takes a lot more to do that than one might think. And if I had the same strong believe that it would be better afterwards or at least just end; I would join you this very moment.

But I don't.

Somebody steps by and puts down a little piece of paper beside everyone sitting in this room. It says 'Lucky? Explain to us and earn 150 €.' What a strange coincidence for a situation for which is said there is none.

I don't know what I'm looking for.

Sometimes it's someone who understands.

Someone who cares.

Someone who lies to me, telling me that everything happens for a reason.

Someone who manages to talk me into the truth of the line 'everything will be fine'.

No one judging without knowing.

I can feel a pressure on my lungs, breathing seems to be harder, but I know that I will nevertheless go out in a few hours to smoke again.

To feel the lightness again.

To forget for a moment why I am here.

To forget for a moment why I am still here.

                                                                                        ***