That's the thought that passes a head the most these days.
Be it about... hobbies. Interests. Strength of character. The right to exist.
What worth does a life have when it provides nothing, produces nothing, creates nothing?
When that unworthy life continues to be a burden to everyone around it, and misery seeps from every corner of such a life - poisoning everything it touches.
Simply continuing to exist, reminding of every failure and mistake done so far.
Every little thing reminding of things done with people of the past, dear or not-so...
And the pain, always so fresh, tearing out and replacing the heart with fresh pain each and every time until on the verge of tears.
A certain dear person, oh-so close to, once. Now... could not be further apart. And the heart just keeps on longing for more. Wanting that person to fill the void, the vacuum, they left behind.
There is nothing of worth for their brilliance despite their own flaws.
Lack, of any worth.