Groups of people pile into little booths.

So tight they can't move without bumping into eachother.

Pervasive odors overpower the room.

Her perfume and his deodorant.

Grilled fish, pancake syrup,

And steamy dishsoap.

Conversations overlap,

A collision of voices.

Mouths smack open and close,

Slurping and crunching between words.

Teeth tear into bits of meat and flesh.

The continuous clatter of utensils,

It's coming,

It always does.

The searing screech.

How they drag and scrape metal against ceramic.

I feel it in my teeth,

Under my skin,

My face,

It burns.

Look normal,

Look normal,

Look normal.

All the eyes,

Fixated on me.

"Hi there. What can I get you?"

Returning after so long left me feeling rather ambivalent. Nostalgia has a peculiar way of reminding us that some moments are destined to remain solely in our memories. A wistful sorrow superimposed upon them. All those happy memories filled me with a profound, inexorable sense of grief and longing for something no longer within reach. A fixed point in time and space that I could never return to. Anchoring myself in the past, grasping at irretrievable moments, was all pointless. I needed closure — to bid farewell to this place and my former self.

Maybe there is no God, no higher power, no afterlife. Maybe it's all just an infinite loop of living the same existence over and over for eternity. No one but ourselves can judge the kind of life we've lived. The entire concept of sin is undoubtedly personal and highly subjective at best. Our very existence and how we choose to experience it can be our own personal heaven or hell. Maybe the act of suicide is the choice to short circuit that infinite loop, a way to jump off this hellish merry-go-round.

As far back as I can remember, I've always had this vague notion that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Something I could never quite put my finger on. Yet it was there, lingering in the background. A subliminal message playing on repeat my entire life. I've no idea where it originated. It's almost as if I came into this world feeling inherently flawed. An obscure birth defect, prominent to everyone but me.

Whatever it was, most people took notice. And much like having a huge stain on the back of your shirt. It isn't until you catch everyone staring that you become aware of it's presence. Though to this day, not a single person has been able to articulate what it is they find so terribly wrong about me.