Would anyone understand? Then again, would holding out the hope that someone understands, be futile? Perhaps it is, or perhaps the will is too spent, too tired to take note, just to keep going everyday.
It feels so terribly familiar, yet so different. Treading on strange new realms of illusions and broken shards of what was once so filled with hopes of what the future might bring. As one who looks to the familiar abyss of darkness, it takes every ounce of will to not just lightly step into it.
As the strength wanes, so too does every will to decide. Like a lifeless rag doll, torn in the four winds blowing ever fiercely from the tempestuous storm raging inside that was never thought to be seen again.
Oh, how the soul longs for a refreshing counsel from the glorious light. Yet all that arrived was naught but sly irony. Answers that betrayed, answers that brought only despair.
Alas, only time will bring tidings, be it glad or ill.