It feels like lifetimes have passed since I’ve last spoke the truth. Many day’s since my last words spent trapped in spindling time that has sought to test my very limits and patience, leaving me drifting in and out of the senses of my own mind, whilst I’ve simply sat here – seemingly watching the sun bleed out. But now, as that very blood spills, my mind begins to clear once more – moving past waves and waves of thoughts of empty promises turned to forgotten lies, words that once spoke of futures that I was never destined to see, and an autumn that has brought forth a decay of the fleeting things I’ve come to cherish, The cold creeps in once more, as my mind ponders upon these cycles that I seem to have grown so attached to, this viscous cycle of love and loss, and the emptiness that follows – for it is an integral part of the very essence from which I was created. But it has become apparent now, much more now than ever before, that I am walking in his footsteps, and have been this entire time, unknowingly; like a scripted play down to the very last act – but was it always meant to be this way? How did he manage to break the violent grasp of the cycles that had kept him afloat from what beckoned below? How did he muster the courage to be consumed by the darkened depths that flooded during those times, how did he find comfort in the act of letting go? When every bone in his body yearned to bare witness to what would follow. These are the memories that I cannot seem to manifest, these are the traits that appear to be intangible to my being, these are the actions that are yet to be defined on this ever-fading line – and ones in which I’ve begun to grow increasingly desperate to play-out with each passing moment.
I have become complacent within this artificial existence, holding on for the mere counterfeit desires to experience various futures and outcomes that I know all to well will bring me no more satisfaction than the miniscule amount they did from whence I was strapped to the seat. It has become more and more apparent, with each fleeting desire, that this form that I have so tirelessly held together, is soon to reach it’s crescendo, it’s passing prime; and much like the horrors that come with the fall – it’s final decay. But without much of a sense of direction, and with you now more distant than ever – I am enticed to follow the footsteps laid before me, the ones walked by him, my maker, in a last ditch effort to join him and the others below. For even now, as the wind blows ever so violently riling up these window curtains that now dance like phantoms in the night, it becomes clear to me that something from the beyond, perhaps the very final fates themselves, have dreaded this elaborate act of holding on, and now rejoice as this section, this dying sun, this warmer embrace – comes to a chilling, darkened, close.
