Dear nobody in particular;

Summer is rolling in, slowly. Ever so slowly. And I think I've watched the sky long enough now to see each black cell in the night be burnt away by the furnacing light of the sun. It's funny how all around me there's such bright, Earthly promise and bloom, but inside of me, there's nothing remotely reflective of that. I don't choose to feel this way, I suppose it's something in my brain.

Depression is sometimes genetic. Sometimes, and more commonly, it's caused by some kind of trauma, bereavement or follow-up effects from a different illness. Sometimes it numbs you, sometimes it stabs every nerve in your whole body, and sometimes it strangles you to the point that you turn a loathsome fusion of purple and blue. I can't tell if I've felt any of these emotions or none at all. I'd quite like to feel something though, it would make a nice change from whatever in-between state I'm usually voyaging in.

I'm not quite sure how to describe it to you, except comparing it to when I'm peering into the myriad of darkness I feel a great deal of frustration that I can't see all of the stars all at once. One of the things keeping me here is the stars. It's curious how to me they are united in loneliness, at least it seems that way. I mostly see singularity in everything, and it keeps things pure and important. But as I said, the stars are keeping me here. I'd miss them fondly, like a friend of some kind. But I can't help but feel the infinite voyage of death would bring me closer to whatever cosmic genealogy I feel up there. Before Carl Sagan died, he told his daughter ''we are star stuff.'' We are, we really are. All elements are derived from stars, our bodies possess the astral ashes of those stars, crushed from their bones and placed into ours.

'So when I look up at the night sky, and I know that yes, we are part of this Universe, we are in this Universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the Universe is in us.'

And I suppose that is why I feel such a strong association with the sky, or indeed the world as a whole. I love it too much. I feel too much empathy for everyone inside it, for everything inside it. And I don't think I was ever supposed to be walking amongst it, rather existing within it. I'm probably failing to convey how I feel through this piece as most people don't understand the depersonalization involved with a need for death.

I don't really think this a need for an end, particularly. It's not a desperate want for a termination of emotion, as I never really felt any emotion to begin with. Nor is it a hopeless goodbye, a shrill-laced cry or the voice in my head telling me to 'just ******* die.'

It's peaceful.

Nothing ever really comes to an end. Even if someone is buried, something buds from the ground in which they lie. And the ashes of a person go on to exist elsewhere. Lives go on living with the Earth, I suppose I just want to go on living in that sense. And so the bright, Earthly promises and bloom that I see but don't really feel can go on without me too, everything can. The world keeps spinning around. The stars won't collapse all at once. Everything just keeps on existing. And *'La tristesse durera toujours.'