Light years, distant planets, the void. To me, they're more like concepts than any kind of reality, but so is the notion of a home. The moon, the night sky. Everything from the blackest of blacks at the edge of the universe to the true blue of Neptune allures me. Maybe it's in part because of how detached from daily human life it all is, I don't care about the days or weeks when I think about cosmos, there's beauty in this forsaking, there's peace, I feel like an explorer that's actually got something left to discover.
Space is both what it is, and what we think it is. It'd both cold and cruel, and it is not. When I'm gone, I hope it won't be anything at all than the space which earth occupied.
Space is like nature, they do what they do, and so does the human body to survive. For all of us who wish to leave this world, and especially for survivors of suicide attempts, it's a tragic fact. Still, there's some hope to be fund in the resilience of the body: we, too, are part of nature, of space, and so in this vastness that bears us all, I don't think there's nothing to be afraid of in dying.
