I pulled out my laptop and started to type. The words flowed with an uncomfortable ease, and my heart shattered as I put the finishing touches on my note.
It had been months, and my plan was finally falling into place.
After suffering in silence for so long, after watching my personality morph so drastically into someone I didn't recognise, after witnessing my body become emaciated when I went days without eating, it was finally coming to an end.
I'd grown tired of seeing the days pass fleetingly, every day the same, no distinction. I'd grown tired of the fun fading out of life, as if the colours had drained away and everything was grey. I'd grown tired of becoming part of the furniture, unappreciated by those I used to love and those I still did.
I was tired.
And I was prepared for it all to be over. I printed off my writing and signed my name with a single kiss. I folded it in half, then back open again, and laid it gently on my perfectly made bed. I pulled out the bottles of medications, about to become weapons of destruction, and dug out a bottle of vodka. I looked at them, my downfall, gulped, and sighed deeply.
Moments later, I was gone.
YOU ARE READING
Songs as stories
KurzgeschichtenI listen to songs and think of a story that goes well with the lyrics tbh
