Another day

The best way for me would be to finish this boring existence by swallowing death pills or throwing myself off from a tower. Unfortunately, I cannot do that because I have two sons to take care of until they grow up to be independent.

I am not tormented by endless thoughts of my dead wife. What makes me suffer is the thought that just like her horrible death, my life is also meaningless. Why go on living this farce where happiness and misery are not given in a fair manner but only chance prevails? I am disillusioned and want to go out of this life. And I can’t do that because of my responsibilty to my sons.

Everything lost its urgency or importance for me. The most important person in my life is not in this world. Nothing needs to be done.

I start reading a book and I stop. I start writing a memory and I stop. I don’t have to finish anything.

I think about another reality, a parallel universe, where she is still alive and beside me. I imagine. Sadly, my imagination is so blurry.

Do I really need to live like this? Supporting two sons and parents. Having no pleasure left for me like hugging my wife after a day’s work. Only thing left for me is to prepare meals for kids, cleaning the house and sending money to parents.

What am I? A housekeeper. A housemaid. A horse dragging a big cart.