Days flow invisibly, lost in a fog that feels inescapable. The weight of life seems to surpass the weight of death - life is distance, loneliness, longing and despair.
Tears no longer come, and everyday is a repetition of survival in a soul that feels too broken to be ever repaired.
Silence engulfs me, I drown in it numbly. Words escape me and all that's left are echos of life in the dungeons of my heart. I wonder how much longer I'll last, as my body crumbles before my hollow eyes that reflect nothing but pain in the mirrors I pass.
I carry on because the horror I experience upon the possibility of watching story repeat itself in the life of my children - and the pain they'd have to endure - is much greater than the suffering I sustain daily.
Some days I am a muted scream that has no end. Other days I am nothing but an observer of my own decadence. I look into the past and realize I have ceased to exist. A shell of me in an inevitable route of destruction leading to my demise, and all I can hope for is to be capable of changing the tides for the ones that I brought into this world.
I wish I had known better then; now it's too late and I can only give whatever's left in me to try and temper with the cruelty of faith.
All my dreams turned into the memory of dust, all my hopes crushed relentlessly. No one is coming to save me. No one is coming to save them, nor anyone else. My existence was nothing but a glimpse of what cannot yet take root in this planet, and when I am gone, I will perish not only in body, mind and spirit, but also in memory - it'll be as if I never existed.
And the wind will still blow, and oceans will roar loudly. Light has not prevailed, and the future is darkness without end in this land.
