Sometimes

Sometimes, in the night, when I just can’t sleep because of ridiculous thoughts, I’m sitting on the window-sill and looking at the window…
Our life is strange, isn’t it? And people are strange, too. There are so many homeless people, they have nothing to eat, no place where they can feel themselves in safety. No one is waiting for them, no one helps, but everyone despises, disdains them… This people are so miserable and wretched… But in spite of this they want to live, and fight … fight for this fucking life.
And I… I have a lot of friends and relatives who love me, they want to help me, and they’ll do, if I have some problems. But…but sometimes I feel lonely and think that it’s better not to live. My flat is on the 8 floor. I can open the window and just take a step… and there won’t be any sufferings, there won’t be anything. I can… can do it… can… no, I can’t, I’m too weak, and, what’s the fuck, I love this idiotic life too…

Yes, life is really strange. And may be, it’s better not to think about it at all… Like homeless people, they think only about where to find some food and money, where to spend the night… they have no time to think about such stupid things as suicide.
We have to live, you see, no one asked us whether we wanted to be born… and now… now we get used to this lethargic life, to this stinking shit.