An Open Letter to the Dead

I envy you.

Having nothing to lose. No cage to escape from.

No obligations, expectations, responsibilities...

Or worries.

Or pain.

Hunger.

No rent to pay, no clothes to clean, no... anything.

You have nothing at all.

In a world of overconsumption, I wish I had nothing.

I wish I had the same silence as a cracked headstone covered in moss.

Forgotten.

I like the thought of solitude.

Not the confinement.

The melancholy of existence is pitiful.

"To live is to have courage."

How pathetic.

Call me a coward.

Life is but an impossible heap we should never build.

It is a punishment.

It is a consequence.

A lesson.

We are prisoners of our own making.

Enslaved to a world not of our choosing.

Forced into compliance.

Habits and rituals.

Traditions.

All of which serves no purpose.

Oh yes,

I envy you entirely.

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I promise you, reader, I am okay. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that I am struggling. I have no shame in that. Writing helps. Call it shadow work:

I'm dancing with my shadow before I turn out the light.

I would really really, really appreciate a like/subscribe.

Take care of yourself, I hope to see you around.