Now my idea of death is when I think of myself as the very type of person I fear of becoming and have apparently, already become. No plans, no options, no cards to play. Not the one who wins. Not the one who still has what it takes to win. Not the one who deserves to win.
Always looking for distractions and hobbies and ideas to live by. Never taking it upon myself to set the rules, to bring the battle down to where it is, to my own heart and mind, my own self I have never reconciled with and the fears I have never confronted. Always waiting somebody to fix me and ending up with people who break me further. Not accepting that it is only I, who can heal my own brokenness.
Now my idea of letting go is not when I decided to take a needle and pop this balloon, it’s when the thread slipped through my fingers and it flew away, getting smaller and smaller and I can’t see it anymore. And when I can’t see it anymore I imagine it. I imagine every small spot in the sky and think of my balloon as one of those dots. Something I don’t see, or hold anymore. But it’s there and not there like it has always been. I can’t be that person who can watch the air escape from the balloon I have to have that hope of ‘out there’. I hate the manifestations of death- myself and my inability to forget. I can’t let go and I can’t set myself free.