Silence. Or what became of it has long since turned into static in my head, the feeling of pins and needles infiltrating, as if my entire vessel is stuck asleep. These states of stasis come and go, such as the hand that is placed gently on top of mine. Never remaining, ever-longed for, and always fleeting.
But what sets aside these moments from the ones that took place before Final Fates were bestowed? What makes the sorrows and longings that I feel now any different from the ones of seasons past? Where all was empty when the door was open? The cycles and echoes are forces in this universe I cannot even fathom to begin to comprehend, like ancient characters carved on a stone tablet, invisible to the human eye.
In times of ever-devouring darkness, I have become what I must in order to continue onwards. On a path, living a life I try so desperately to not let others see. But despite my furtive lengths, I have and may very well always remember what was, may always feel what felt so true, may always seek the same comfort and warmth that was offered in those day’s – what has now been laid to rest.
The longing to feel your presence and aura, much like the once beckoning sun that paraded it’s warmth within every step I took, unknowing that each and every step would ultimately lead to the darkest nights that I have ever known. A purpose still left unknown, a path still left untraversed, a love still left unfound, a cycle still yet to be broken.
But even during now, strapped to the seat with an ever encroaching state of equality of the forces making it’s way in; despite the loss, despite the struggle; despite the circles and cycles – I still remain alive throughout it all.
