/lit/ - Literature

>>11008499
Life is longer than I expected. On picturing myself reaching this age, as a younger man, I would have imagined myself to be either reaching the highest summits of the world or falling into its depths, defeated. But in victory or defeat my tale didn't end, and the god that writes my existence has grown complacent, dull and devoid of any talent or will to improve.

The fate I am to endure, thus, is even worse than the worst I had expected: to endure the long degenerative disease that is existence and watch everything I hold dear succumb to it. Most people find their way out by numbing their own mental states, so that they can gracefully pass into non-existence. I found that to be even worse; like sleeping for a thousand years only to see the world has moved without you on waking up.
No; that is even more horrifying than living, and what compels me to live. Should I die and be reborn again I would have to reach the same logical conclusions yet again, slowly falling into madness and despair.
The only means by which I could truly escape and feel free, happy and fulfilled was creation, but this merciless reality latches onto me and drags me back. This machine I call my body is broken, needy and it and hurts; this craft I call my society demands that I interact with others to survive and denies me the dignity of living or dying the way I want to, but it is still a better alternative than the ruthless forces and laws this universe has woven around the natural kingdom.

And so, here I remain, like many others. Unable to die, but unable to live, I find this to be an undeniable truth: we are trapped in hell and heaven never existed.