I’m sixteen years old and currently wasting my youth on a hospital wherein tragedies happen every day and hope seems like nothing but an illusion set up by those who either can’t accept reality, or those who think they could take advantage of it.
I’ve been stuck here because of my weak heart, and they said it would probably be better if I were to stay here because the slightest strenuous physical activities would probably kill me, or at least that’s how it feels like.
I only get visits from my parents occasionally and from a private tutor about twice or thrice a week, but in here, I learned to just enjoy my own company.
I run up to the rooftop a lot because being up there staring up at the sky or the stars— It reminds me how small and insignificant I am, and that the world will go on even without me.
I somehow find comfort in that petty fact. In retrospect, I’d never really expected much from my life, and I deem it ultimately pointless.
To be completely honest, I feel like I had already given up on my life a long time ago. I have been trying to kill myself,
but for the past few times that I had tried, things still went wrong and I failed at even that.
So now, I'm up here again in the rooftop, and I’m planning to end it right here and now as a present to everyone who had to put up with me,
so I could spare my parents the burden of having a dysfunctional kid as a son and so I wouldn’t have to spend any more time in this Godforsaken place anymore. All I have to do now is jump.