A Final Act

She confessed her sins in her head because she didn’t believe in a god. The only master of her destiny was herself. She typed sweet nothings to a person who may be a figment of her imagination. The man she signed her body to made her sick when he touched her. It wasn’t his fault, but her feelings for him were gone and she wanted so badly to spread her wings and fly away. She had a plan. A sinister plan. This plan would not fail. It wasn’t a scream for attention. It was an act of mercy to her hurting soul. A release from anymore haunting pain she kept inside. She didn’t want to leave a note. It wasn’t some grandiose final act. But she did want to tell those left behind that she was sorry. Sorry for disappointing them. Sorry for leaving them with pain. It wasn’t their fault. She just wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t do it though. She thought of her beloved ones and she couldn’t stand their sadness. She lived for them. Her life was no longer hers. Her life was theirs. She didn’t mean enough to herself. But they meant everything to her. Enough for her to trek onto another day. Enough to keep fighting the good fight. Maybe one day, when her damaged heart was healed, she would thank them. Thank them for being to her what she could not be to herself. What no one else could be. For loving her the way no one else loved her. She decided she would love as much as she could and as many people as possible. Others needed to feel that sunlight too. Maybe they would need it the way she needed it now. Maybe her quiet act of love would be the deciding factor that kept them around. Again, her life would be given to the service of others. Everyone was welcome to a piece of her. Everyone but herself.