17 years ago at seven years old I spoke the words "I want to die," to the night sky for the first time.
I moved around a lot and now I am back under the same stars.
17 years later I speak the words again, "I want to die."
I laughed to myself upon the realization that nothing has changed with time.
I cried at the incredulity of it all.
And yet - I am still living, I am still here.
I question why and how I have kept breathing.
I doubt in change, and fear dying within the lack of it.
Dying in anguish after spending all my days waiting for better days.
I wonder if death will bring me peace or a new cycle of misery.
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