I’m starting to wonder if I was ever alive to begin with.

Surely, this hollow ache in my chest is not something meant to be born by the living.

But if I was never alive, if I’m not of the living, what does that make me?

If I am of the Dead wouldn’t that mean that I once was living?

And if I once was living, who was I?

Who am I?

So many questions. Too many questions.

I try to focus but the meaning slips through my fingers.

Falling in tendrils to the floor.

I slip between the floorboards burrowing my way into the dirt.

Down below the worms.

The bedrock.

Until I am left with nothing but the darkness, and the hollow aching in my chest.

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