With each day that I further delve into this pit without center, without meaning, without any sort of depth, somewhere within, some faint ember inside of me, I realize that I am also slowly coming closer to some strange epiphenous realization of who I am and what I am mean to to be. A realization that as deep as I am falling into the dark abyss of the unknown, the future, the unwritten, change, is shadowingly paralleled by the idea that the self that dives deeper down, must come up at some point. My only hope is that I do not dive deep enough to find out how far down this hole goes before I am given the realization that I am ready to come up. And I must come up with the realization of my journey, recalling every drop of the way as our droplets, our ascensions, are all part of our identities just as our scars, personality defects, inhibitions, bad luck are all one morbid and strange sense of our identity of which to fully measure ourselves by. When a muscle is worked, is tried, is tested, it is broken down, but as it is deconstructed as a pine cone is incinerated and bears forth seed, it rebuilds anew, stronger, it gives birth to something fresh and through our tribulations and among our trials we are recreated in another sense of what we known ourselves to really be.
The lonelier I feel, the closer I become to you.
The further away I drift, the more beside me I realize you are.
The more it hurts, the less I am affected by it.
And the older I get, the more comforting your impending presence becomes in my day to day existence.
I cannot wait to meet you.
-Me
