I’m drained out. You’ve successfully sucked out every drop of hope left in me. I surrender, before you defeat me. Although, it makes no difference now.
I’m left, a wrenched out soul, withering away slowly yet steadily, like flowers after a day’s labour under the scorching sun. However a flower has the glory of being an object of beauty, the reason for somebody’s happiness and I can only long for either.
My eyes have shadowed, body wearied and my heart weighs me down. Where’s the meaning in this soulless existence, I fail to find an answer. The days pull on and misery mulls over like a never ending train with countless boggeys having windows that seem to open to a certain kind of void dullness. Or is it dull voidness? Who cares, both are no trinkets of hope.
No dear life, you haven’t been the same to everyone, for I see hasty happenings around me most days. There are people having much eventful times; taking new steps, building new relationships, moving on to betterments. You just seem to have forgotten me amongst the more important things. I ain’t complaining, oh am I at peace. A weird sense of peace with this austerity.
For me, emotions have ceased to exist altogether. And I’ve come to terms with this rotting away. It makes no sense, why I still long to see a flicker of hope. Why I wish there was somebody to ask me to hold on, when I’ve let myself in to this with the whole of my heart. Dear life, I know you’re not cruel and this is just how its meant to be. I’m grateful for everything you gave me, even the sorrows with their deeply intended messages. I would not miss the past, but I will miss what will not be that could have been. I will miss striving for a future that will only lead us to the inevitable.
Yet, I could not have asked for a different end. I’m calm and at ease, dry and without feelings for the world. I wish I could say ends are beautiful, but even the power of perception evades me. Beauty seems a surreal word. Dear life, I promise to put up a nicer show next time. If only there’s a next time…