Notes to Cindy: The Archives

My world has fallen apart.... We're expected out of here by the first of April. I have no where to go but the streets and Anya refuses to live in a tent again. With everything that has happened, to live apart is to break up. We've tried everyone and there isn't a roof for us to live under together anywhere. So, in a couple of days, I'll be going to the streets and she'll be going somewhere else. For the first time since February of last year, I will be completely alone, and this time without the luxury of friends to talk to online. I have never been so alone in my life. It's frightening, and heartbreaking, and depressing, and it's already worn down the foundation of hope and security which I spent so long building for myself. There is no hope. There is no security. There is no mercy in this world, no purpose in life, nor strength in love. Eventually, everything dies. There is only abstinence of death by those too recalcitrant to allow nature to run its course. Even then, you can only push it back for so long, before the world balances it all out. This relationship, this love, these dreams, this hope, this false sense of security, this miserable life... it was all meant to die. It's questionable if these things were ever meant to be born in the first place. Nothing is constant. Nothing is predestined. The only thing fate has in store for anything is cessation. This being said, we are fools to fight and struggle with it, for the end result will always be the same, so... instead of struggling with it, we should just welcome it. I've worked so hard to create a legacy, after coming to this same conclusion so many years ago, but this love made me lose sight of that; it blinded me to the absolute. I fear, now, my work will never be finished, and I'm not sure whether or not I'm okay with that, yet. True, my legacy has the potential to live on, but chances are that it will become outdated and unimportant. It, too, will eventually die, along with everything else. That being said, I suppose it's okay if I die tonight without ever finishing what I barely started in the first place... ok, but the animal's instinct for self-preservation is such that how may I ever take my own life with nothing more than a dull razorblade which struggles to sever even the fine hairs upon my skull? I have no rope, no firearm, no gasoline, no cliffs or deep bodies of water. Death is not the curse upon humans. It is the persistence of life where it is meant to end that afflicts our minds. Show me a way to kill myself which doesn't involve firstly conforming to life and I shall call you a saint amongst prophets and beggars. Show me a way to end the story without first finishing the middle! Is there no such gift? Do I really have to work towards life before I may greet death, or is there some sort of loophole I'm missing? FUCK! Why must I continue to live without purpose or even the will? How do I escape this labyrinth? STRAIGHT AND FUCKING FAST! Watch my life consume the tile of a bathroom floor until I lose consciousness and fall into a sweet oblivion. How I wish it were so simple, but alas, I have no object sharp enough to do the job. FUCK THIS LIFE!!! Death is the answer we will all soon face.

She left me with a choice to either stay in Hendersonville or leave. If I stayed, she'd help me by borrowing Jason's tent and purchasing an air matress. Her mistake is thinking I bought out tent and air matress for my own comfort. I can't stay in Hendersonville while she's here, not if we're living apart and, therefore, broken up. So, I left. She knows I have no where to go, no person to turn to, but she let me go anyway. I gave her three chances to stop me, but she didn't. My heart told me to give her another chancem however, so I wrote a note, telling her that I'd be waiting in the graveyard for the next few hours, which without a watch, is for the forseeable future, and I left it on the porch for her to find. If she comes, great- possibly. If she doesn't, I guess it's off to the open road for me. Even after all that has happened, I somehow still have hope that things will work out for us, though hope has let me down so often in the last ten months alone.

I'm not sure how long it's been, but it has been long enough for her to read the note. Tat much, I am fairly sure of. My hope quickly diminishes with every passing second. Stubbornness is all that keeps me sitting against this tombstone, waiting for what is unlikely to come.

She came, but no such luck. She'd sooner watch me die and this relationship end, than live in a fucking tent for a month.

MARCH 30TH, 2013