My epitaph would probably stand in the middle of flames, not knowing where it belongs. All of you standing around it, desperately looking for answers and explanations will be met with a disappointment, so aghast at seeing the big question mark engraved on it. While the ones around me will have names and their entire life summed into a difference of years separated by a hyphen, with words of love, hope and remembrance afloat on it, mine will stand out. But that is all I have ever been.
You who stand here today, do you know me? Sure, we may have had one too many cups of coffee at break hour and downed many a shot of vodka at midnight. We may have had endless gossip sessions and may have bonded over deadlines, assignments, heartbreaks, fashion and a plethora of unrelated and uncoordinated topics? But do you know me? Do you know what makes my heart bleed and what makes it take a leap? Do you know the tears I hide underneath my meaningless laughter that comes up every now and then to avoid your questions? Do you know that I carry countless secrets sewn in between my lips but would heartily unravel it all for just one person?
You who stand here today, can you hear me? Can you hear me, especially when words haven’t left my lips and my mind is stuck in a myriad of unresolved doubts? Can you hear me, when I desperately want to be heard and understood but struggle to find the right words that could correctly convey the matters of the heart? Can you hear me, when I speak in indirect statements and quotes because I am not quite sure how you would take the direct ones?
You who stand here, do you see me? On days when I wouldn’t want to look myself in the mirror, do you see me? On days, when I sulk in the corner, unsure of my worth but still putting on my usual façade, do you see me? On days when I am torn apart from my inner demons playing dice in my veins, do you see me?
The question mark that stands there firmly, is all there is to me when no other word can stand true to my definition, my purpose. That question mark resonates with my state of being, a perpetual anxiety, and craving one answer, do I matter to you? Will you stand by my epitaph feeling you lost a part of yourself with my demise?