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