Are you okay?

01:34AM

"A couple of days ago, I think," I answered vaguely, brushing off his concern as I refused to meet his eyes, feeling his gaze burning into me. I looked ahead, mindlessly scanning over the train posters on the opposite side to us. "Why do you ask?"

"I think..." he started, trailing off in a pensive tone," I think if I want to help you, the most important thing for me to do would be to understand how and why you feel." I nodded slowly, understanding where he was headed. "Reading your more recent poems tells me how you feel, but-"

"-you need me to tell you why." I muttered, my eyes trailing along the edges of the page as I felt Romeo's gaze return to me once again. I was slightly taken aback by how much thought he seemed to be putting into helping me, but my reluctance to share more about me overpowered my gratitude.

"Let's start with the poem I just read," he suggested, seeing as it was one of the last poems I'd written, comprising of my thoughts during the days prior to my attempt. "What made you want to write it?"

"People kept asking me what was wrong, or if I was alright, or why I looked so sad," I listed a few, glancing down at my hands while I spoke, "And most times my reply had been a hurried excuse about being tired or not getting enough sleep."

"But isn't that true?" Romeo pressed, confusion seeping into his voice. I could see why he might think that, seeing as he knew I stayed up every night hopping from train to train and seeing where I'd end up. "Don't you get physically tired?"

"I do, but... it just doesn't affect me." I'm so absorbed in the mental battles I'm always fighting that I hardly pause to take care of my physical self, and when I do it ends up doing me more harm than good. "Of course, not sleeping as much as I should takes it's toll on me, but the mental strain of - of being trapped in my mind - it affects me so much more than missing out on sleep ever could."

Romeo thought for a moment, a ruminating pause settling between us before he asked, "What's it like?"

I recoiled at the question, the absurdity of his words truly hitting me. I snapped my head towards his, seeing nothing but sincerity between the layers of his onyx eyes. "Seriously? You want me to tell you how it feels to be so tired of your own mind it makes you want to kill yourself?"

"Yeah," he reiterated, wincing slightly at my bluntness. "Because I don't think I could ever be able to fathom wanting to die, but maybe if you explain I could try and understand. Most people want to live long, fulfilling lives and die when they're old, but-"

"I'm not like most people," I interrupted, feeling the corners of my mouth curl up into a wry smile. "And I don't think I'll ever be."

"You don't have to be," he agreed to my surprise, cryptically adding on, "I'm not like most people either."

I blinked back at him incredulously, unsure if I'd heard right. "You want to die?"

"I want to live," he corrected, "I simply want to live as long as life will let me. I don't have grand expectations for the future, and I don't even necessarily want to live for long. I just want to live: to have the gift of being able to breathe air each morning and sleep with the assurance that I'll wake up the next day. That's all I could ever want – to appreciate the gift I've been given and live."

I held his compelling gaze, amazed at how completely different our mindsets were. I wanted to die; he wanted to live. "We really are such opposites..."

"Maybe we are, for now," Romeo agreed, "But I'll change your mind eventually. We've still got the whole night ahead of us." I nodded in agreement, reaching for my phone to check the time, surprised as I realised that it was nearly half past one. Time had gone by fast. "But anyway, you still have to answer my question."