If I could still breathe, I would laugh with irony.
All my life, I had one obsession: I wanted to live forever. I wanted to live on, and on, and on. I wanted to never feel the aching of old age, never to be ill, never to die.
I spent my days obsessing, worrying, freaking out over the tiniest things. I called the doctor when I had a cold: I carried around a first aid kit with me everywhere. I wasted my days away, worrying about death, when I should’ve been more concerned about living.
It was an absolute obsession and it consumed my life. As a result, I never truly lived. I never watched the sun set, or felt the silkiness of a bird’s feathers, or lay down in the woods and listened to the wind in the trees. I never did anything last minute or spontaneous. I never did anything that could be the slightest bit dangerous: I never had proper, good old-fashioned fun.
So I wasted away my entire life worrying about my death.
And, of course, I died. There was no way of stopping it. After all my efforts, I couldn’t prevent my death from coming. I couldn’t hold it up for one single second. Along with everyone else, I died.
But I’m still here.
I don’t know what’s supposed to happen, but I know it’s not this.
The house I lived in is now my prison. Perhaps it’s because I wasted my life indoors that, after my death, I am eternally confined to my house. I sit here, unchanged, as my house falls to pieces around me. I watch as the cobwebs stretch out to cover every surface, as the water drips through the ceiling from a hole in the roof I never mended, as the windows grow darker and darker as the layers of grime build up.
At first, I thought; “Someone will come. Someone will come to check on me,”
But as the years drifted by, unchanging, I realised the truth.
Why would anyone come a visit me when I had never visited them? The truth was, I had no friends in life. I had no need for friends, so consumed was I by my foolish quest. And I would spend my death lonely as a result.
The years yawn by and here I remain.
If I could go back – try again – I would. I would do things differently. I would travel to another country and lose myself in their culture. I would learn a forgotten language just because I could. I would go for long runs and not stop until I was exhausted. I would live as though I would die tomorrow. Because, I think, I’ve learnt my lesson now. Life is a gift. And I threw mine away unopened.
I wasted my life obsessing about my death.
Now I’m going to spend my death obsessing about my life.
If my lungs weren’t clogged up with dust, I would laugh with the irony.
Image was taken and edited by me