I awaken each morning to find that something else inside of me has died. Some part of my world or very being has passed deep into the night and left nothing but emptiness in it's wake.
I often try to remember what it was that left. I try to pinpoint what's gone. However, I can never quite recall because I don't believe that I've ever used it in the past.
I'm like a snake shedding it's skin or a reptile losing it's tail. It's sad, in many ways, but not as crippling as one would think.
However, my lack of concern over my disappearing heart is what troubles me the most. The fact that the things that make me human are disappearing bit by bit is not half as disturbing as the fact that I don't care.
I watch my will to love, my pleasures and triumphs vanish without batting an eye and like sand through my fingers, my humanity slips away.
Most would tighten their grip and try to save a few grains. However, I just watch in morbid curiosity and dare not hinder the process.
As emptiness becomes more and more of who I am, the value of my life declines steadily. However, the fact that I don't care makes it worth so little already.
Maybe I shouldn't be allowed to live. Such an act can only be that of a monster. But I have too, my work here is far from done, so I must fight on. Though my soul will rattle with every blow life will throw at me. I must press on. Though I will be so hollow I'll cry salt-water tears, I must press on. I must press on. I must press on.