serialthriller:

I ask myself if I’m doing the right thing. I never think before I speak, and I never have a destination when I’m driving on the road. this means nothing. does anything mean anything, because nothing means something when it’s in the right place. the body you’re in doesn’t look how you want it to and the words that come out of your mouth don’t say what you think they do and there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be in this life even though it could end in a second, and when it does, is that where you’re supposed to be? In the shadow of someone’s memory, the whisper of a thought that tells them not to take that final step or they’ll end up just like you, back in the hospital where they pronounced you dead after two hours of trying to stitch back up your broken body and even if that worked , nothing could have fixed your broken spirit , your shattered hope and love for life which had passed on long before your body did. Is this where you’re meant to be? In the reflection of the tear in someone’s eye as they look down at you from above your casket and try to remember the last smile they saw on your face? You never looked both ways when you were crossing the streets, and fate finally gave you what you wanted. because the person behind the wheel of that car never thought before they spoke, and they never had a destination when they were driving on the road. they were too busy asking their self, “am I doing the right thing?”