Contrary to what you believe, my life isn’t worth saving. I’m no longer living, only surviving. Impulses are triggered by synapses of anger, grief and pain. Other emotions fail to elicit a response because nothing else remains. I’m not a man. Just a shell of a person. When you were still alive, I whispered into your ear, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be ok.” Maybe I believed it at the time, but your absence has destroyed me more than I ever could have imagined. And so, nothing remains. My life has ended, and now I’m just killing time, waiting for a crack of light through the door, so I can leave and return not again. I wanted to make you proud, but I’ve failed you yet again.