Today I will die.
How?
That's not important. What's important is that you know why.
People say that there's a reason for everything. Not for me. I am just here, just existing. I am only me.
I am standing at the lake, gazing out at it's flowing and gushing waters. I close my eyes, wait for the calmness to come. Then I open them. I feel the corners of my mouth curve up into a smile, something I don't do too often, but it suddenly fades as soon as it came. I see somebody from school. Dang it. With a sudden pang of insecurity,I pull something shiny and smooth out of my pocket. A knife.
I grip my knife in my hands as if it's my only reason for my being. Perhaps it even is. It somehow comforts me, like a loyal friend, who is the only one who understands you.
You might see it as a dangerously sharp object, but I see it as a key. A key to get out of the crazy, depressing place.
Why would I do that? Nobody would care. Not my parents, not my little brother, not my so-called 'friends'. If there is no love in this world, is there any point of living at all?
