I am no one.
My name is nobody, and I am writing because this is the only way I know to fight this crisis inside.
Papers are my friends, pens are my knives. you could see, my blood is immortalized through my ink. And each time I die, I keep on chasing my breathe to finish my words.
I am fighting a war that I don't know how to end, or when did it start. I woke up one day, and all I ever know, the world has been on my back. I could not give up, I want to live.
You may say that I am insane, that I am just waiting for some spotlight. No. I didn't come here for someone to look for me, I am here to find myself. I am here to find home, to find ease even if it's just through the words.
I didn't cut my wrist to maroon a flag to wave, people won't even bother.
I didn't kill myself on a noose, people will only come to pretend.
I didn't write a suicide note, for someone to see death as art.
There's no beauty in wrath, there's no brightness inside the maggots devouring your rotten marrow.
So I am writing, hoping that even if my flesh will perish in the desert sand. My word will be left, as a hieroglyph of a pharaoh, in a wooden chest of a long gone man.
Let my unknown name be immortalized, even if it will be forgotten, hope that my scrolls will be a reminder of my existence. That someone had fought a battle, that someone had travelled the universe to have a coffee in one Sunday morning, that someone had love and dreamed to be immortal. Even just by his words.
