9

LANGUISH

It is a blithe morning adorned by a blithe sun. Could this jewel in the sky possibly exuberate such heavenly indifference?
It rises and sets of its own accord, a token that serves to remind me: I control nothing.
It is a parched evening and even the moon peeks through but hesitantly. The heavy clouds lining the sky seem obdurate: they will not part with their burdens. And neither will I.
It is a blind night and I feel like the stars, brilliance eclipsed by clouds that will neither move nor lighten.
Acceptance never comes easy at the beginning, but a lifetime of practice has taught me enough.
To fade away, into the grey.
To kill the fire, to be a liar.
It is the simplest thing to sit still and do nothing.

 

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