I sit here and I see all these people living around me. I see their happiness. I see them fill one another up. And I can’t seem to fill anyone or be filled myself. I am a black hole. And there are sometimes where I can barely form coherent thoughts through the pain. Not just loneliness, but pure pain. And no matter what I do, it never gets any better. It’s times like these when I understand why I have to die. Dying will be merciful, a release from everything I cannot be.