The truth is, there was always a valley of inexplicable uncertainty. The colours a mere shade, tangibles scattered – a world, a life lived hanging over a rift. A crossing, built and rebuilt; one way traffic, walked and reversed. Relief. Disappear.
It was never the answer.
Then came the flights of fancy, cold steel through cosy confines. A fleeting blow, a persistent ache. A stream of hopes regurgitated, boiling on contact. Steam of consciousness dissipates. Stand still. An instance.
Faced with raw life, no options but to live. The fight lost, before the sound. Our bell, perhaps, or mine alone. No options but to live. Torture, fatigue, claustrophobia, suffer. It’s in your heart, not here. Nor anywhere you deem, perpetuity a dream.
Make haste. Take your heart and all its intricate devices. Return to me.
Better.