Detached
August 18, 2019

The days are short, and filled with nothing. There is no color, no expression, no passion of the soul. I cannot bring myself to smile, or even frown. I feel myself slowly fading away, as my soul turns to dust and the embers of life that once blazed in my heart now whittle away until there is nothing more than smoke and ashes.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

That simple analogy, in only seven words, conveys how my life has been for the past few months, especially at the hands of my own undoing, and my own pride, which unlike the number, has not given me much luck. Rather, such an analogy conveys how miserable I am on the inside. I cannot bring myself to care about anything anymore. Food does not taste the same, all of the music I used to enjoy has become lame, the anger I felt towards myself and my condition has been snuffed out like a flame, and yet, I am the only one that is to blame. It is all my fault, but what I am to do when every part of my will has been shot and left to die through and through?

Will it ever end? I don’t know, no more than I know if the sun will rise tomorrow or the moon will cast its light down on me as I head to bed for the night. What I do know, however, is that I’ll have to wake up tomorrow, and endure more suffering.


Photo by Christopher Burns on Unsplash

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