An old friend spoke to me today. I believe he spoke the truth.
He spoke of a feeling so buried that I believe I am the only living person he has shared it with; for this I am grateful. He explained that his life was haunted, his daily thought was dominated by an overwhelming longing. His only desire was to be diagnosed with a terminal illness.
I wasn't expected to respond, this was clearly a confession. I understood.
I understood the sentiment. This was, in a confused weekday mind; an easy escape, a quick release, an ejector seat. To me, this seemed logical, the unnamed itch we all long to scratch. I reassured my old friend, cheering him in the knowledge that everyone in fact, thought thus; we all wanted to die.
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