I feel your every breath, you know? I am perfectly aware that you are stalking me, playing the waiting game. You are waiting for me to slip up, make a mistake, catch me unawares. You want me dead. You wont be satisfied until I am so much ashes and dust, the charred remnants of a body that once held a human being. And you will kill me, I know that too. All my struggling and fighting will come to naught. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe a few years from now. But you will win, and I will lose. You will wipe away my existence like a teardrop on a candle flame.
Funny thing is, I don't want you to win. Defeat is inevitable, and yet, I don't want you to win. It's stupid, isn't it, this struggle against what is meant to be? I mean, I feel your presence in every step, even my body tells me that inch by inch, cell by cell, you are claiming me as your own, and yet I WANT to win. Is this trait exclusive to humans, I wonder? This stupidity of wanting something that could never be? The nerd wants a date with the prettiest girl in college, the orphan wants to be hugged by his parents, the penniless destitute wishes for extravagant dinners and mansions to have them in. But no wish is foolisher than mine. This wish of winning this battle against you. It's tiring me out, and driving me just a little bit insane, and why wouldn't it? I have been fighting this battle for decades now. I look around and see my fellow soldiers and they seem so normal. How the hell are they so normal? Don't they know what's happening to them? Don't they realize what you are doing? Yet, they go about doing their daily chores, and reading their books and watching their films. Do they really believe that any of it MATTERS, or is it just an elaborate ploy to keep their minds of this unwinnable war they have waged against you? And if it is, why am I not taken in? Why am I not being distracted? Why do I teeter on the precipice of madness every night, filled with incandescent rage and yet unable to do anything about it?
So many questions. Will it be better when you finally come? Will I be prepared by then, maybe even ready for whatever you have in store? Or will I struggle until the last ragged breath, struggling to open my eyes one more time, to carry on even when my body won't? Will it be peaceful, or will it be agony? So many questions.
You know, time? It's not life. YOU'RE the real bitch.