“And I wish that plant life would grow all around me
so I won’t feel dead anymore…”
-Owl City, Plant Life
“We’re temporary anyway…”
-AFI, I am Trying Very Hard to be Here
I keep saying it would be nice if I could have been successful at a young age, a youthful entrepaneur or something. I keep saying it would be nice if I could have fallen in love. I keep saying it would be nice if I had lost all this weight long ago and never looked back.
My life is not how I pictured it to be. Sure, a lot of people’s aren’t but I think it presses down on me a bit more than it might others. At least that’s how it feels.
I think of how much time and energy I wasted on stupid things. My youth is gone and I have nothing to show for it except stretch marks and a rapidly depleting bank account.
But then I keep thinking about the end of my life and how it won’t matter. The accomplishments, or lack thereof, won’t make a difference when I’m decomposing. The lack of success and notoriety and influence. The lack of love and overage of love handles.
It would have been nice to have experienced the thrill of passion and exhilaration of adventure. Maybe it would have given my life some measure of satisfaction and happiness but when my heart stops beating, the money won’t matter where I’m going. The love I shared won’t matter where I’m going. It’ll all disintegrate.
I suppose the influence and impression I could possibly leave behind would have been nice as well but ultimately, I guess that doesn’t matter, either. Some people leave a part of themselves behind for others carry on. Some don’t. I most likely won’t ever get to deposit myself into anyone’s heart. Maybe I’m just one of those who are quietly born, quietly live, and quietly die.
There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t mean I never meant anything.
I was a person at one point.