Finding the Beauty

Stillness

It was a sharp pain that made my hand shake as I ran the razor down my arm for the second time- but the adrenaline dulled the throbbing ache that remained.

I watched as blood flowed from my wrists. It was a beautiful color, reminding me of pomegranate and ballgowns.

It dripped and pooled on the floor in intricate pattens. As I drew patterns on the cold tile I contemplated life and death and the beauty of it all.

Some may think ending it makes me weak or selfish, but it is my most selfless act. A charity of sorts, or at the very least a give and take. I'm removing myself from the world; a world in which I am just filler in the lives of those I love and a mere speck on a spinning, doomed planet.

There is beauty in aging, in the way hair grays and skin wrinkles. Each mark serving as a reminder of laugher and sorrow, and most of all, growth. A weathering of the storm that is a human lifetime. As I paint the floor with my still dripping hands I imagine my own graying hair and freckled skin

It's surprising no one mentioned how long this takes. Pictures and books describe the limbo between life and death as a fleeting moment. But seconds ticked by as I created my masterpiece, a red jumble that had meaning only to me. It was a representation of my life and of my sorrows. There was so much time to regret- but I couldn't find that emotion in me, I only felt relief knowing it'd be over soon.

For a moment I regret not leaving note because without it no one will know... no one will know that my life had meaning. I meant something. I might not have meant anything to anyone but me- but I counted. I was here.

I don't know what awaits me, if anything; I just know that this moment is pushing me to escape. To escape into an unknown, or maybe into nothing at all. I just want to be seen, to be heard, to matter- to someone, to anyone at all. All of my life I was overlooked by most and those that stuck around long enough to know me, never understood me. I'm not hard to figure out, it's simply that no one wanted to take the time to listen. I don't blame them. I'm okay with being invisible; with being a passing sweet moment. I just wanted one person. I just needed one person to see me, to hear me, and to find joy in the things I say. To find joy in me. But it's too late for that now, I accepted that when I realized I was doomed from the minute I took my first breath. But at least I know I was a sweet moment to some, and hopefully I'll remain a sweet memory, forever living on in the minds of others.

With my last seconds of life I shakily draw my initials, signing the canvas I made on my titled bathroom floor. There's beauty in everything, even death. I wanted my last act to be art.