Who cares?

I'm no more than two feet away from the edge of my three-story porch, sitting and typing in the dark. In the past hour, I have been typing and retyping. In that same hour, I have been thinking that I could have jumped off and I would be gone before someone would notice.

Who would care unless they are forewarned? Who would care unless it is put in front of them?

I've lost hope in whatever love someone may claim for me. I am still here for the love that I have for those that I would leave behind. Not for the love others claim for me, which I don't receive unless asked for by me. 

First

I don't really know what truth is. I feel that I can't trust anything that I may think or feel. How is it that anyone can survive without certainty? Does anyone else know what that feels like? How is it that anyone can continue with life not knowing anything but the end? But somehow we are able to do it. 

How lonely does it feel to know that your experience is yours alone? There are people riding their own ships right beside you... But you're the only one who knows everything about you the way you do. 

I'm writing this as a way to figure out who I am. Because I feel that if I don't leave something of mine, even words, behind... I won't be able to say that maybe there is a way for me to live on. To perhaps believe that the way I want to remember myself lives on. 

I will try my best to continue forward, but I can't say how far I'll go.