I never told anyone the full truth about that
night I snook out when the morning hadn't yet begun and
cycled down the middle of the wrong side of the road because
I'd had enough of people telling me they were right when I
was past caring if I was wrong. I sped down that hill and I
didn't really care if I crashed at the bottom because right
then in that moment, I actually felt something and it
had been so long since the last time I had been reminded that I
was alive and here. But it didn't last, and just as I knew it
must, the pain came rushing back and in that moment I
wanted a car to come hurtling round that corner so that
I could be something, anything, as long as it was more than I am
now. I wanted that collison to remind me that I wasn't just
nothing- that I was here and that I had a choice. I had a choice
to throw myself out of the way or stay and let myself end.
Because I could do it, I could take that one last selfish breath
and indulge in the easy way out, and I could do it because I was
here and I was alive and I had a choice. But no car came and I
was left wondering, while the sky slowy began to tinge with
light, when my time would come and if I would ever become
something (albeit the smallest of things or the merest of
moments) worth remembering.
