Death IS a beautiful thing.

Tell me that it's not. I often think about how I just want to die, to be free of all the pain I feel. Like an angel. I think about dying in the mountains, in one of those meadows that I always passed by near Mono Lake. I swear, I think that area is my favorite forest now. I want it to be a sunny day, as it usual is up there, with those winds that I remembered went at almost forty miles per hour. And I want to just lie there, in the middle of a huge meadow, looking up, and just DIE. From some illness, like cancer or something peaceful. It's a little funny - how to everyone I somehow am living matter, except for the person that I care about the most. It's times like these that I just wish all the problems in my life would go away, that I would just disappear, as if anyone would even notice. I'm invisible. A pesty speck of dirt that you have to carry on your shoulder. But only to you...