journal · prose

The Aftermath

All of a sudden, I am overcome with an immobilizing, debilitating sadness. The world stretches, thin and vague around me, and I shrink into a puddle at its center. The only clear thing left in such a blurred and nebulous existence is the keen sharpness of this feeling and the fear that there is nothing, no amount of love or cheer or blessings that could be bestowed upon me, that could ever right the absolute wrongness pervading my every sense. Have I become nothing but an outline of my former self? A stagnant pool of wasted possibility and potential. I sense your shadow over me. When did you become so? Your presence had been such a luminous influence, a bright beacon of hope and tenderness in a land sketched in despair. To you, it all must look exactly as it always has before this moment. Your intuition may be honed to a cutting precision, but it would be impossible, even for a master of auras, to recognize such a silently subtle and sudden shift in my perception of reality. Have I relied too much on you for happiness? Lulled myself into a false sense of security thinking all will  be well? Who could possibly know if it would and how often has it ever been? And I knew that this would happen, it was why I tried to push you away. But the attempt was half-hearted, flimsy at best, and by now, it’s too late. I have become hopelessly attached. I think to speak; I wonder upon the prudence of the choice. Time expands inside the silence and my rapidly pulsing heart drops to my toes and shatters as you slowly drift away. I have relied too much on you. “So extinguish the light,” I think. Before you completely blind me. But wait, now you are shadow. Or perhaps you were always so. And I was always blind.

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