There is a sickness brewing from with inside of me, it’s a sickness that I have come to know throughout this space and time, one that I have grown to find a sort of comfort in, one that has sought to guide me. During these darkened hours, hours that in which pre-face the rising of a moon so dark – it will change the very landscape by which I now reside, enhancing my very fading, altering my DNA yet again. Moments like these scream of past era’s that I once used to know, eras where the fire within burned strong and vibrant, eras where time was in-tact, slowed down, and under control. Eras that while darker moments came and went – there was always a beacon to hang onto, no matter the situation, no matter the sacrifice – no matter the loss.
But that time has since been lost, and time itself has found it’s way to continue onward, much like the dead advent behind us, as we enter into a new frame. A frame that is fragile and fleeting, one that is not yet complete, not yet stable – not yet realized. The lifelines that I once held onto so desperately are all gone, severed by the hands of time and fates themselves as the dark pool consumed all that remained of what existed before now. In a sense, this existence is different, this existence is new – and while it was never meant to be permanent, I have spent countless hours within the dimming moonlight attempting to learn, attempting to adapt, attempting to connect – as if it were.
These November hours that past by ever so quickly bleed of emptiness, but emptiness within comfort is for some reason what I tend to feel. Perhaps the empty is truly the comfort I seek, but have resisted for so long. It is over-powering now, like a weight bearing heavily on my chest. I have begun to no longer be able to fight it, the things that I know, and the things that I used to know are being drowned out by it’s essence – the yearnings, the longing, the memories, all suffocating in it’s grasp. I know that like a machine, my mind must keep running with thoughts of fates and alternate timelines just to stay afloat, just to keep the flames at bay. For they are growing more and more anxious with each passing hour, more and more harder to bare with each setting sun.
