This whole death thing. It's a metaphor.

Well, except for that entry I made on the 26th about dying. That wasn't a metaphor, it was a hypothetical situation.

I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to physically die anytime soon. As sure as any of us can be, anyway, which isn't very.

All this recent death talk is not about my body physically dying. It's about this life that I'm living coming to an end.

There is a difference.

I've written that I died when I found out that she'd moved away. That was the same thing, the same concept. I lived to be near her, but it was no longer an option. I kept breathing during that time, I just stopped wanting to breathe and I had a tough time coming up with a good reason to keep doing it.

Well, the reason that I came up with was an understandable one I suppose. A stupid one, to be sure, but it kept me going for a long time.

That reason was hope.

Though I spent most of my time denying its existence, just as I'd spent most of my time denying the feelings that came before it, hope did exist for me. A very small spark of hope it was, but when held up against the blackness that I found myself in, that small spark was all that I needed to keep going. To keep breathing. Because, you never know.

Well, now that hope is in its death throes, and when it's gone, so will this life that I've been living. The hole in my heart has a specific size and shape, and that which would have filled that hole is about to change both.

That was me, trying to be funny. Three people will get the joke.

Once this hope dies, I'll have to come up with another reason to breathe.

I have no idea what that reason might be. For now, it's simple denial that's keeping me alive. But that won't last forever.

I'm not stupid, you know. I recognize what this means. At least my brain does. It's only a matter of time before my heart realizes it. Once that happens, I'll die again.

Metaphorically, anyway.