When I set sail on this life of mine, I had oceanic dreams of grandeur. Discovering new lands to stake my claim. I wanted to squeeze out every breath this life had to offer. I was bound and determined that my voice be heard and my words remembered. As I grew older I learned that I was significantly less important than I thought I was. I also learned that my importance didn’t depend on what victories I had. No medals, no trophies, no awards. They don’t give out awards for being a decent human being. I’ve lived selfishly nearly every day since birth. The rest of my life fell in line accordingly. I’ve often wrestled with the idea if I was born sick or became sick. Did my plans that I had laid out make me this way? Did the experiences I lived through shape me into something grotesque? Or was this all part of a bigger plan? Now I was never afraid to die like most people are. I used to believe death feared me. Gun to my head wasn’t enough to end it all. That’s what happens when you combine egotism, insanity, and a death wish. My life didn’t hold value to me, and still to this day I’m consistently questioning my every action and searching for my worth. Why does the world not care about someone’s life until they’re already dead and gone? The world can erase our bodies but it can’t rid itself of feelings and memories. So why don’t we feel just a little bit more before the end. I held onto this belief that if I had died, I would be loved more. I couldn’t love myself but maybe the world around me could. And so I became obsessed with teetering on the edge of life and death. Balancing on the edge, making a home in the space between the grave and the ground. I wasn’t trying to dig my own grave, but I wasn’t going to stop the world from doing it for me. I was busy picking out the headstone that people would eventually speak to. Shed tears over the earth that surrounded my vessel. Today, I’m not fixed. I’m more or less fixated on the idea of repair what my plans had damaged. Some days are better than others. Some days the space between gets too narrow so I dig towards the sky for some much-needed fresh air. I don’t make plans. I act instead always waiting to react. I have learned that to make my death beautiful, I first need to live a life of beauty. Even if I’m as empty and bottomless as I’ve thought myself to be, I will continue to try to fill this chasm with love. I don’t want to die for nothing, I want to live for everything.