Updated: Feb 22, 2020
Deep sinking melancholy, leaving you directionless. A gaping pit that seems to grow larger without anything to plug it in. You try everything that normally makes you feel more complete, but nothing avails. You know the easiest direction out of this will only make you feel worse, but the real routes out are seemingly too arduous to begin.
A simple apology for past sins seems to linger. The opportunity you have is moving further and further out of your grasp. There is no control of the situation, you are trailing behind the raging bull to tame it. The frustration, the anger, everything is against you. Yet, it isn’t, and you know it. Oh, why couldn’t the world be against me? My only foe is me. He is too daring to take on, let it be someone easier like the entire world. Then, at least, I could be a martyr to my own delusion.
Why does one have to die? Does the grip of death always ask for a victim at the altar of change? Changing the world seems easier than changing oneself. I am but a rock, let the river around me flow uphill before I move. My soul conflicted, my mind distracted. The divided form standing, still. Yearning for something lost and irrecoverable. Travelling to a distant land that doesn’t exist, yet you can see there are still rocky mountains to trevail. No path, no signs. If only there were a sign. How we love and crave direction. Somewhere to go. Someone to see. No one. Loneliness is my only real companion. She never left me. I left her only to come crawling back. She clings to me, oh so lovingly. I can’t escape her abuse, her manipulation.
My mistress, Veritas, doesn’t comfort me anymore. We were infatuated with discovering more about each other. She was a deep book in which I found my own story. Yet, I can’t turn the next page. I keep turning back to the last chapter to read again and again to see if there was something I missed. The next chapter won’t be as good as the last one, why should I read on? Discovery isn’t fun anymore, it’s depressing.
The cool wind on your back, the shiver that lets out a sigh. Oh, sweet melancholy, the light that shines darkness. It’s killing me. Yet, it’s mine.