I have never been so deep into thinking about the very end of existence, or - if my initial perceptions are wrong - whatever's beyond death. Being so near to the end as I have been and seeing others cliffhanging onto the thin thread of life my mind keeps on bringing all these memories to my head,…

The inner urge to write is nothing more than a false output of everything inside of me wanting to scream out loud to certain persons in particular. Those I love the most. My uncertainty of my own being makes me insecure of my own relationships to others; I'm never sure who can handle what's inside…