I write this to you, whoever might care.
Not to beg for rescue, but to leave something behind.
I was here for a moment, then I wasn’t,
But lived long ago, or so it feels—
Maybe life just isn’t for me.

Every day felt like a borrowed breath,
Each step like walking on shards of glass.
The world told me to smile,
To be grateful for the sun and the air,
But I couldn’t feel them.
The light seemed dimmer where I stood,
The air, too thin.

Maybe the universe made a mistake—
A terrible, terrible mistake.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be here at all,
Not in this time, not in this place,
Not in this skin.

I’ve tried to make sense of it,
To find meaning in the mess.
But the harder I searched, the less I found—
Just echoes of laughter I couldn’t reach,
Just shadows of hope that never stayed.

And now I’m tired.
Tired of pretending to belong in a world
That feels like it was made for someone else.
Tired of carrying this weight
That no one else seems to notice.

I write this not to hurt anyone,
But to finally be honest.
I’ve hated this life, hated this emptiness.
I’ve hated the silence inside my head
That no scream could ever fill.

So, here it is.
My final confession,
My final release.
Maybe in the quiet that comes next,
I’ll find the peace that was never here.

Goodbye.