Silence

I didn't know how to approach it. Played it over so many times, it was as trite as that very phrase. I explained as best I could, hands trembling. Fingers threaded against each other. It's hard to explain apathy . . . the lethargic sense of nothing that stems from deep despair. But, I did the best I could. I mentioned that I planned it so someone could take care of the dog, even filled the bowl full of more food than necessary. Just in case. I didn't know what to expect when I put the sheet around my neck. As I turned against the dark thoughts, I felt closer than ever to something that was neither peace nor torment. It was a second of rushing clarity. I saw the past for what it was and the future that never would. My heart pounded in my ears louder than ever possible. I still turned. Both realities crumbled, inching closer to the nothing that I sprung from and would hope to enter sooner than later. I remarked that hope in these situations is . . . ironic at best. I don't know when I stopped. For all I knew, this was all there was. Afterlife was more of the same. Wouldn't that just be the worst? Is it the worst? How does one define "worst?" Others certainly had it worse than I ever will. Does that diminish myself? Am I lesser in a self-fulfilling prophecy? What kind of tenuous bullshit would that be. No can know the feelings of wishing for it every night. Every day. Every second. It's like thirst only completely different as well. All this, I explained. And more. Far more than necessary. I took a drink. Caught my breath. And waited for a response. I exhaled and the scene before me fogged like a autumnal morning. My reflection smiled and I knew. I knew what the reaction was. Nothing at all explains everything.