The Weight of Living

 

There have been times when I wished that I wasn't here,

that I was just gone off somewhere,

nonexistent and just another bubble of emptiness

that floats through the air that these people

breath into their lungs

so easily, so effortlessly,

that you would think that it came as second nature to them.

But every human being on this planet 

does not possess that same innate trait,

every human being does not possess the will power

to survive, to live, to continue on in this wave of constant sound 

that pulsates through the speakers that play

for hours and hours on end.

Every human being does not know the joy

of living to hear their baby sister laugh for the very first time

or happily say their name,

no. 

Every human being does not want to live.

But that...that is the problem with society.

In this day and age,

life should be the one thing that we all hold so close and so dear to our hearts

that the people around us begin to question

our true morals and beliefs,

that the people who we surround ourselves with begin to worry

that nothing can draw you two apart.

Life should be such a precious item

that nothing, and I mean nothing, can take it away from you.

It should be such an important aspect of your existence

that not even the softest winter or the warmest summer

could change your mind or convince you to lose it.

I don't care that you weren't born with it,

that shouldn't change your opinion of keeping it.

My sister wasn't born with steel rods in her arm that keep her bones from breaking again

and I wasn't born with these scars painted across my skin

like thin, detailed strokes on a blank canvas that wanted so desperately to remain clean

yet somehow became a mess of red,

no.

But that doesn't mean that I want to rid myself of them.

They remind me that life is worth living,

that these days spent in constant frustration and stress are only that.

Days.

Only a small piece of existing, only a couple of sentences 

written into the chapters of my life.

I wasn't born with the will to live,

I was born with the will to fail just like every other human being on this planet,

but I, I have learned that living, although a choice,

is much better than dying.

I have learned that even though life has its ups and downs

like one of those twisting, turning roller coasters that I always resented

and hated with all that I had because that just wasn't for me,

that even though life can sometimes not be as sweet

as those movies like to depict, 

I can still accept it for what it is.

Because there are people out there who are just like me,

who are struggling and fighting

because sometimes Death can look much better than Life,

because sometimes black can look so much better than bright,

because sometimes the night can look so beautiful

that we forget that the day was all the more wonderful.

Because there are children out there today, there are people in this room,

who look at the sky and wonder why they aren't dead yet,

because they want so badly to end it all and to escape this hellish lie

that has enveloped them like a thick veil of silence that only makes things appear darker,

farther, scarier than ever imagined.

Nobody is born with the want to live,

nobody is born needing this air that we breathe.

But over time, we find that just like speaking,

or walking, or talking, living is beautiful.

Life is beautiful.

Ending it would be a shame,

because what kind of a fool stops reading a book halfway through?

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