When did we end?

Dead inside

I feel lost.
Lost in the big, big world.
It's like I'm one from millions,
but I'm still lonely.
And sometimes I ask myself:
Would anybody miss me?
Because I don't think so.
I even think, that they would move on. They would forget about me.
They would forget my name, my story. They would let go.
Right?

I don't even know, if they would hold me, when I fall. When I tell them, what I really feel like. Would they say: "Stay strong"? Or would they get, what I mean? It almost seems like a bad joke. But when I say "I'm dead inside", I'm not lying. I don't feel anything. And from day to day, I ask myself more often, if that's good.

I ask myself, what I mean with "the pain inside of me grows stronger each day." I ask myself why I feel so lost in the universe. Like a half-written story. No beginning, no end. I ask myself if I'd keep writing with the pen of life. If I'd jump out of the window, and make time fly. Sometimes I even want that.
End time.
End pain.
End me.
End life.
Maybe that's what I really want.
I want the drip, to finally stop.

I want to tell people, proudly, I made it to heaven. That God protects me here, that I'm closer to his warmth by now. I want the universe to know, that I will listen to every call and every tear, it spends on me. I want the lights of the starry night to shine brighter than ever.

And someday I will.