L'appel du Vide

     The landscape was vivid with every color. Wintergreen trees littered the landscape along with batches of vibrant flowers. There were a series of clover green hills and sky blue lakes, their mirage seemed to look like the footstep of a celestial being. The mountain I was driving on perched on the top of everything else, everything except for the feeble rays of sunlight seeping through the clouds. Hurling over an enveloping river watching all these beautiful sceneries, and my first thought wasn't "Wow, I should drive here more often," or even "Wow, I should take a picture of this view." It was "Wow, I wonder if I took a sharp turn to the right whether I could bust the bars and fly into the water." And I don't know why.
     I'm not really sure where the line between curious and destructive belongs for me. I mean I obviously trying to really, die, I didn't want to, I was unfulfilled or anything. But then again, I wasn't totally fulfilled either. I was just searching for something else, something more. I don't know how to swim. But I figure if I did fall off I'm floating a million miles above the Earth and I couldn't drown. If the son of God could walk on water then I swear I could make the water walk on me. Or maybe, I'd just drown, failing to see the difference between living and drowning, because I'm running at a wall hoping that its the finish line, or just sitting dead, on the bottom of this river.
     Dead, it's always kind of been a weird thing. My parents would always talk to me about loving myself and not dying but its kind of odd. It's not like as a 10 year old I was handed candy or the noose of a rope and asked to choose. Wherever I go I would always see starting with “life is a...” and ending with whatever optimistic saying ran through the minds of advertisers as they were daydreaming in the shower. But none of those sayings seemed fit now.
     It's a train that you keep riding because it seems no other destination that you see is good enough to stop at. A bubble too small to care for but long enough you can't just pop. A car ride that you makes you wonder about jumping off into the river.
     I wasn't suicidal. I was just self destructive. After all it feels like every year I'm just looking up at some perverted Christmas lights, getting dimmer by the second. I'm watching the world spin around and wondering why my broken two legs can't move me faster. So when I'm listening to the river, to the call of the void, I amn't trying to die. I'm trying to see how well I can live. Because everywhere I've been, every trip I've taken, I've never found a good enough place to stop. And I don't know if I ever will.