“I want to die,” but I really don’t, because the inevitability of death scares the hell out of me the fact that I could just not wake up one day, being almost nothing anymore

I wouldn’t be able to wake up on sunday mornings to mourning doves, or fall asleep with crickets and a highway

I wouldn’t be staying up late with panicked thoughts, or be able to go over conversations 20 times before they happen

I wouldn’t be able to string together words that sound just okay, or be able to stain paper with watercolors

I wouldn’t be able to hear the rain anymore, or think that I could’ve been the first person to ever jump in that puddle

I wouldn’t be able to find fascination in little things...or anything

and I don’t think I’m ready to be thrown out of existence even if I don’t want to exist some days.