15.02.25.
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What exactly would be the "hardest thing" that could ever happen to you?
An experience? maybe an occurance of mourning and sadness? or is it something that consoders your effort? (something like weightlifting).
Some would say death. That would make sense, but to me; death is the most freeing thing that could ever happen.
Maybe they could be with me, up in the sky, sitting on a wooden bench, fidgeting with a wooden chip from the old bench.
I could only remember one moment when I thought death was "sad"; it was when my sister died, but that feeling is now long gone.
When I died, I wasnt on a deathbed in one of those retirement hospitals, I was in a dark alleyway, with rats feasting on my flesh. It wasn't a "murder", if that was a murder then the culprit would be me, but it isn't a suicide because I didnt do it myself.
It was an acceptance, where I gave my trust to safety and myself, only for me to betray the night by walking into a risk I knew would kill me, but I accepted that fact, and I knew there wouldn't be any going back.
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But perhaps that was all a dream, — something of a hallucination, because I hated my life, and on that day, I killed myself, because I loved freedom and hated reality. Don't you think?, I am always like that; the hateful, and scornful hypocrite who hates its own life.
It was all so bloody, so dark, but do you believe in that kind of bullshit? If it wasn't for me to walk into that, then I wouldn't have died, I wouldn't be on this dreadful and rotting wooden bench up in the sky where I only see white.
In fact, I miss life, I miss walking on those streets of pavement, I miss waking up to hug my sister, I miss it all, I miss living my life.
I miss walking on those stars, those beautiful, those rough and miserable stars, I miss saying hello to those trees that look like eyes, I miss creating sandcastles for me to pretend invading, I miss it all.
But where did it go?, this is a dream, I can walk, I can think, I can tap my fingers, this is what they call a "lucid dream", so why can't I imagine those happy days?
Because they don't exist, I don't exist, and you don't exist either.
I stood up on the piece of pavement, where my bench laid.
I miss it all, all of those memories I knew were real. But did it even happen? Those memories which I think of every tick on that clock of imagination? Did the past even happen? I can't even talk to anyone up here, I can't even ask anyone if anything even happened. I hate it.
I hate it all.
I wish I was alive. I wish I loved my life. I wish I wouldn't be scornful every step I remember.
I wish my life had a life.
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You know, on those days, walking on the rough starts, someone told me a name, — a purpose. At least, — to me. It told me my name was Revoir, I don't know what it is,
maybe it's another memory, that I imagined from insanity on these sad pavements. but I just know.
I am.. "Revoir".
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