Writhe
We dream. We dream about what we want. We dream about what we fear. We dream about who we love and hate, respect and despise. We dream about things that have meaning to us. Sometimes we even dream about the past. What we dream is who we are. Like looking into the reflection of a mirror. But no, the frame holding in that mirror isn’t enough to encompass “you”, is it? When we dream, it feels more like we’re staring into our reflection of water. Into the great abyss within the sea. Where beneath the surface is a torrent of emotions and memories. It is never calm. It seethes. Surges. Writhes in agony and pain. Until the pressure built up is so great that it bursts out in a fury of cries that rain down over the crimson skies. You lose yourself in that endless rain. The sounds of a thousand drops echo within you. The pain pouring down on you. Weighing you down. Bringing you to your knees till you dive deep into the oblivion of yourself. You fall. You despair. You realize your powerlessness. As reality daunts upon you, as darkness envelops you, you fade away. Into the blackness. Into the nothing.
But why does it always end this way? Why is it that we must fall to despair before we can gain hope? How many times must I make the same mistakes till I learn once again what is right, and what is wrong. Where is my justice? How can I ever repent for the injuries I’ve inflicted upon those I hold dear. How can I be forgiven for the sins I’m about to commit? For the lies I’ve told. For the harsh truths I wish to set free. How…?
That doesn’t matter in the end, does it?
Happiness attained by lies is no happiness at all.
But it doesn’t end there…never does.
