If there was a way to turn back time, I would do that. Turn back time, allow my parents to teach me differently. I would tell them I want to write, I want to bowl, I want to play the piano. I would learn, slowly, surely, and soar to greater heights.

If there was a way to turn back time, I would do that. Unsay my words. Take back whatever I had told my friends. Swallowed my feelings and emotions. Learnt to keep my heart in my chest, where it belongs, instead of wearing it on my sleeve. I would have more friends. Everyone would love me more.

If there was a way to turn back time, I would do that. Study hard. Drill everything into my brain. Learn, learn, learn. Do well in all my tests. Get a 4.0 grade point for all my subjects. Be the apple of the teachers' eyes. Have a chance, maybe, to go overseas to study.

Right now, however, I'm just a failure. I make so many mistakes. I can't seem to do well in whatever I do, so why study if I'm not going to score well in my tests anyway? Why go for training sessions when I only pull the bowling team down? Why write when I know there are more people out there who are better than me at expressing feelings and emotions in the form of words? Why continue my piano lessons when I can't even play the piano well to begin with?

Why do i even exist?

I just want someone to hold me tight. Hug me to their heart and tell me, over and over, that they love me, that they would not be able to function without me. That they'll be devastated, crippled, utterly crushed if I were to die. It would be my motivation to stay afloat. It would be my motivation to keep my head above the water and force my lungs to breathe, force my heart to keep going.

Except, however, there's no one to do that. Sure, there are people who love me, but they don't love me enough to do that. I would gladly do it for certain people, but they don't seem to care about me enough to even know whether my disappearance would affect them or not.

Life's still going on for me, though. I have no goal. I have no aim. I have no place to go to. No place to truly belong to.

Sometimes, I think about taking a kitchen knife and plunging it into my chest, not fatal, but serious enough an injury so that I'll be rushed to the hospital and I'll see who really, really cares about me. Then I'll find motivation, I'll be happy again, even if there's a gaping wound in my chest healing ever so slowly and throbbing whenever I move.

But then I think again. It would rake up a ton of hospital bills. My parents and family would worry, because they would, why would they not? And what if no one even cared? What if no one else loved me? What if they didn't care if I died from that knife or not? What if I truly died, and I wouldn't live to see the people I actually care about?

Sometimes, I think about taking a kitchen knife and plunging it into my chest, before realising what a selfish little brat I am. No one would care, because I'm selfish. No one cares. Not one person. Not one.

So I take a staggering breath, unsure of what air I could possibly be taking in, what environment this air could possibly be from, what my surroundings truly are.

Then I take a step forward.

And another.

And another.

Till where?

I don't know.

Perhaps when I reach a rock and trip over it. Where a knife awaits me and slashes itself deep into my chest. Killing me, allowing my soul to cease existing.

Perhaps.