Holding onto the Little Things

I’m out of reasons to live for. Most have others, their aspirations, their dreams, and their future to live for, but at this point I’ve lost everything. I let my head rest on the trunk of the tree that rose from my grandpa’s grave. Despite the fact my heart is deplete of any happiness, I only allow one tear to slip out from the cease of my eye. The horror of losing everything all at once is unimaginable; the feeling is as if your heart has been drained of blood.

The rope’s above me.

It’s my choice.

I can end it all if I want to.

They never know what they have until they lose it.

This time it’ll be me.

I stand on a stepping stool, at the height of the rope. I grasp the noose in my hand, so tightly that the braided pattern prints on the palms of my hands. I slip my head into the noose, watching my last sunset drown the noises around me.

It was all silent. 

Even the crickets stopped chirping.

I close my eyes, enabling two tears to slide down my cheek. All of a sudden, the memories return.

The man who once opened the door for me.

The children who’s faces brightened up in the sight of me.

The woman who complimented my eyes.

The elderly woman who simply flashed me a smile.

Why was it that my expectations were so high? Why couldn’t I find the pleasure in the littlest things, the most irrelevant events that everyone forgets so easily?

I let go of the noose, gasping for air as I step down from the stepping stool.

When you have nothing, it’ll be the little things that save you. Never underestimate the power of the smallest things imaginable. For these insignificant things can be imperative to one who has lost all.

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