Reasons – a late night prose

I used to always think of reasons to end my life,
like the fact that no matter how hard I tried I constantly felt I was letting myself and others down.
Until one night I realized no one needs reasons to die, it is easy and near at hand. 
Death is not a craft.
But living, on the other hand, requires effort.
I realized I needed reasons to persist, reasons to live.
Reasons like wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning, 
and being reminded of your existence when suddenly a stranger begs for conversation. 
Or the all-too-real feeling when a song speaks your thoughts clearer than you can pronounce, making you feel human again. 
How it woes you when you find a planet in the telescope, it being the universe you often forget you sit on.
And sometimes feeling good after laughing over how stupid you are, or being told you inspire somebody, a soul. 
Then wondering how someone is ever so clever and never your soulmate.
Late nights lying in bed envying all composers of love and tragedy for being so gifted. 
But soon after realizing how blessed you are by their gift, so it's okay to be a mere expectator, a lover of art. 
Art, which makes life seem insipid but gives one reasons. 
Reasons to dream, cry, and feel alive. 
Life, which asks no questions and is no one's to claim. 
Life, an expensive whore on a street corner who just wants to fuck.
But you just want to love her


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