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Author Topic: The Longest Sigh  (Read 1681 times)
The Madness
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« on: January 20, 2013, 07:37:00 AM »

In contemplation of what I can only call a state of madness, I find myself reaching an inevitable conclusion. Is it my desire to reach the end? Or is it that which I expect, leading me to the same answer. It seems my efforts, in earnest mind you, are destined to failure, yet I hear the same response no matter the question.

Can it be simply that my mind will not allow me to alter my perspective, even if I convince myself that I truly wish for change? Is it easier to assume that some predestined course, set in motion as sure as the heavens, drives me to that which I hope for and fear most all at once? And what does wait here at the end, a warm happiness previously unknown to me, a tempestuous pit of pain, a never ending void of eternal peace?

I have more than once teased to tempt the hand of fate, welcoming that dark visitor, expecting any moment to feel his touch upon my face. Why? Why does he mock me!? Am I doomed to this barking madness, the only release an arms reach away, my own cowardice staying my hand? What is to become of this pathetic shell, a decaying stain on history.

And yet, what will remain if I go? I've nothing to leave behind, no mark to show for all my time in this world. In the few years hereafter even memories will fade, until all that I am is no more. Possibly the worst thing is for one to not be remembered. Would that I never existed at all, for what reason to exist but to be remembered.

The path is dark, and I cannot know where it leads, yet my instinct tells me I will not like the destination. The downward spiral of my mind leads me to this conclusion. Fate, destiny, God's will, call it what you may, I feel the end draws near for me, and in these twilight hours I feel nothing. The years of frustration and failure have numbed me, though my thoughts continue to mount and wander. I cannot say I'm ready to face it, and still it comes regardless of my intent or desire.

I am surrounded, yet alone. I smile, yet I am not happy. I am alive, yet I do not live. What purpose can such a life serve? What reason to continue? Perhaps such twisted irony to hold the answer from me until I no longer desire it, or to whisk life away just when it might seem most precious.
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