Void

Have you ever wished to just 'Not-Exist'?

You have. Haven't you?

You mess up each time something happens and pray that you get disintegrated. So that everyone would be happy and at peace.

Others euphoria at the cost of yours.

Yet nothing happened. 

And yet again you continue to yearn for it everytime you mess up, like how a dying man yearns for water.

You picked yourself up and flee to those infinite worlds you created inside your head. Worlds where people worshipped the sand your toes danced upon. Solace was what you sought for. And the temporarily relief you got there washed away all your evil thoughts. 

Again you were reduced to thinking about getting yourself disintergrated. 

Killing yourself now would be too late, because you knew that pain was like matter. Neither be destroyed. Nor be created. Passed from one form to another.

First them, who hurt you. Then You. Then again, them, the people who you hurt by killing yourself. 

That's why you wished for disintergration. You think that would make everyone around you happy.

Others euphoria at the cost of yours.

Maybe deep down you think that would indeed be a noble sacrifice.

You are thoroughly mistaken, My Friend.

Imagine you got your wish granted. You disintergrate. 

Every memory you created, every good thing wiped out of existence. Everything about you, Gone. Replaced.

That's what you wanted. That's what you get.

Others euphoria at the cost of yours. Noble sacrifice indeed.

What actually happens would be a different story, something you would not know, because you don't exist anymore.

You create a Void in the universe. And those people you ever meet or ever touched in any way would be sucked into this miserable black hole, not knowing what went wrong.

You are a theif, My Friend.

Your mother would rub her belly occasionally, involuntarily, a habit that set into place for the past few years. Her ten months. Stolen.

Your father rubs his head absent-mindedly, the exact spot where you would touched him when you existed. His massages. Stolen.

Your brother walks into your room for no reason, forgets why he was there and walks out. His pranks for you. Stolen.

Your wife bites her lip at times, because you used to. Her Love bites. Stolen.

Forget your children and grand-children. They don't exist, because you don't. An Infinite Lives. Stolen.

Theif. 

You disintegrate as a theif.

I don't know which one is worse. Suicide. Or disintegration.

An Article By

The Violet Woman 

Picture source: Google