I got asked a question yesterday, pale skin and sincere eyes wanted to know what i lived for, what my reason for being here was. I couldnt answer. I stared at them, ideas racing in my head but none making my heart skip a beat. They asked me again.

“It can be anything you know, even just something you have a passion for.”

I didnt have any passion for anything. Passions were lost on me as much as desire was. Maybe I wanted to live a peaceful life but if i were to not be living at all then that’d be fine too. I am a floating pile of stardust that is alive because the oxygen around me helps me survive. That is all. I have nothing to live for and nothing to die for. I want peace, and i dont need to be breathing to get it.

“Maybe my trinkets.” I told them after a long while, “I like collecting things, pretty objects.”

It was a cop-out, even my lovely useless treasures didnt mean enough to me to keep me alive, but I had nothing else to say. So I let them take my word for it and hid my apathy under a lying tongue, and that was it. They gave me a copy of the paper they had filled with notes of my troubles then i was off. I had things to do, a bucket list to check off and a ex of almost half a year to miss. I walked the campus grounds, indifferent and sweating, I wanted to take a nap for as long as possible. I wanted to not wake up and instead be free of this mortal body. I thought it was logical to not want to deal with the bleeding and the sweating, the everyday showers and hair washes, the pain and routines.

Death was freedom.

In honest that is how I felt, but they told me It seemed i had been depressed for a while and this had me confused. Depressed? I asked, As in constant despair?

I didnt think it sounded like me. I was capable of being happy, of being angry and sad; i had felt all those emotions over the span of this week alone, how was i depressed? Because i didnt have a reason for wanting to live? Was that not everyome? I thought we all parraded on our 2 feet with distant wants but no true reason for breathing, just lists of experiences to cross off. We do our middle and high school years, we go to our proms and quinceañeras, we have our lovers and our heartbreaks, we get a few good friends and after a few lousy attempts in the middle to fill the void, we finally die. Isnt that it? Isnt that all there is?

I sat and thought in my dark room on the floor of my discomfort, i asked myself why I was so hesitant to die when i had nothing to live for. Then i wondered why my distaste for life was deep enough to make me indifferent to death.

Truly, is there any point to either fate? Is there any reason to wantto live, is there any excuse to choose death? What if i want neither?

Make me a star, make me the spec of dust in a loving home. Please, let me live in a way that isnt exhausting and let me die in a way that is never sure.