"Human beings were merely born to want, wouldn't you agree?"
That particular person, at one time, asked me.
I can vaguely remember how I answered that question, nor what expression I might have broken into at the time. It's been quite the long time since I've encountered those words, along with the person who gave me that complex look—the look of distant eyes that seemed to stare into the void, with a somewhat bitter smile as if having given up.
No matter how hard I may try to jog my memories, I can hardly remember how I responded to those words. The mere sight of her face was all that was left—continuing to haunt me up to this very day.
It really makes me wonder how long it has been.
How long it has been since I've last seen that person.
I couldn't help but sigh as that thought crossed my mind.
Though, with that being said, no matter how vague my memory may prove to be, there's one thing that I can say for sure.
It's that—
I didn't fully understand what that person meant at the time, nor did I know where she drew those heavy-burdened words from.
What struck inside her to break into that face.
How the world may have seemed with her own two eyes.
I didn't really know what sprung those on.
Though, I guess it merely proves just how naive and immature I was at the time.
Now that some years had passed me by, I slowly began to understand what kind of weight those words held. I ended up walking the same path as that person did, and eventually reached the spot where those words came about. Though, I'm sure this was the only path that was left for me regardless.
Indeed, human beings were merely born to want.
It's what makes each person who they are.
They never reach a state of satisfaction.
They always end up wanting what they, themselves, do not possess.
May it be in regards to the ever-changing cycle of seasons, endless connections of human relations, or any other aspects that people enjoy, we can never really say that we're truly satisfied.
People who've lived through their lives in the winter would begin to yearn for the summer warmth, and those who've lived their lives in the heat would envy those who indulge in snow.
A newfound star gradually rising to stardom would hastily climb the stairs of fame, but would drop the mic at the very peak saying they want to lead a normal life.
A loner yearning human interaction would toss away his own identity, with the ultimate goal of making friends. But once he starts to feel exhausted, he'd start to seek his former life.
A nation whose people spent life in peace would mindlessly yearn for a decade of war, and a nation whose people spent life in war would fight to see the day where they'd all live in peace.
It's an endless cycle of continuous wanting.
A lingering feeling of discontent.
In the end, wanting is what makes people who they are.
If that person were still here, alive and breathing, surely—I would have given her a nod in full agreement, talking it over with a cup of coffee at some random café she might have wanted to try out.
That's surely how the story would go.
Surely.
Sadly, it's just me now.
At some random café I started frequenting at some point, I began thinking it over merely by myself, nodding by myself in agreement to myself.
Quite the way to pass time, if I do say so myself.
And as those thoughts began to leave a bitter taste in my mouth, I took one final sip of this bitter-sweet coffee then exited the shop with a swing at the chime. I scanned the area by the time I got out, not a single soul was passing by.
There was hardly anyone free at this time of day in this lifeless town in the first place, so I can't really say there was anything strange with that. Kids were off to school and adults were slaving off at work, while the old timers were probably at home watching TV dramas.
It was only people like me who had this sort of free time.
People like us, to be precise.
Me and her.
As I stared at the sight of this ghost-like town under the shade of the store's front, I started wondering about them once more—the words that she said the last time we met.
Is it true that only people were born to want?
Is the selfish act of wanting only exclusive to people alone?
If so, then—
If so, then where does that put her, I wonder.
In the end, I can't really tell from what I currently know. But for what it's worth, she was more human than any other person could ever be.
Which is why she wanted to end it all.
That's what she wanted at the very end.
To put a stop to her endless search.
And for how long she had lived, I'm sure it was tiring on her part.
In the end, there really is no such thing as true satisfaction.
Which is why—
Which is why it was probably about time I did the same.
Taking a step outside of the shade, leaving my umbrella under the table I had used, I bathe under the sun for the very first time in a very long while, staring into sky which was painted in blue. I couldn't help but be astounded by the sight of its vastness.
"So this was how it was for you." I ended blurting out with the same bitter smile, with the same distant look with each word that passed. "Good job for making it this far. The two of us."
As I finally said those last few words, my vision began to blur in brilliant red, a burning sensation started to course through my being which only grew stronger with each second that passed. And with one final look at the flawless sky, I held onto the mark she had left on my neck—those two troublesome holes I had trouble hiding for a while.
Seriously, how long has it been since I've had these on. A hundred years or two, perhaps?
Though, I guess that didn't really matter anymore.
It's merely a long forsaken tale from a long time ago.
With my sight now engulfed in nothing but flames, it somehow makes me wonder—
Did she find satisfaction by the end of this?