If there’s one person in the world I wish I knew how to save, it’d be her. I wish I knew how to help her. I wish I had the power to pull her from the abyss, to remove her pain, to let her leave it all behind. Wish I knew what to tell her when she needs a voice of encouragement. Wish I could be the one to hold her hand and make things right; wish I had the ability to heal her with my thoughts and my presence. But these are mere wishes - real life isn’t that idealistic. The only thing I can do is watch her suffer and feel powerless to do anything about it. I can’t give her what she needs, can’t be the one she wants, and most of all, I can’t let her go. Her mere existence is suffocating and intoxicating me, but I can’t seem to get enough of either. I can’t let myself - can’t leave her alone even if I’m the last person she wants in my life. It’s like the only thing my entire universe revolves around is my obsession with her and my quest to try and become the thing she longs for.
Once again, I’m stuck in this spiral and lost the ability to pull the brakes a long time ago. It has me trapped in its whirlpool of cycles. The same patterns perpetually repeating themselves, getting stronger the harder I try and escape from them. The more I desperately try and fill this hole in my chest, the more its event horizon grows. But that’s human existence for you. What repels, attracts; and what attracts, repels - a big series of cosmic contradictions that leaves us stranded in their wake, unable to comprehend what’s even happening to us as we get pulled along in its turmoil.
Hope is both a blessing and a curse. It’s the last thing to die for a reason - nay, some would argue it never dies. And that is a good thing, for without hope we are nothing. But what do you do if all your hope compels you to do is continue down the path of self-destruction? Is it possible to change and morph hope? And does it require shattering those hopes, facing the utter despair of hopelessness and coming out the other end a reborn person? Is that possible, and if so, am I strong enough to do it? Opening my eyes and facing reality for even a moment is excruciating. I don’t know if I have the strength to push my body past its breaking point and plunge into that darkness.
The only thing providing me with solace is the warm glow of knowing that none of it will matter in the end, when we’re reborn into the stars as fragments of a lost future. Every suffering ever experienced will fade into irrelevance the moment our own perspective on the universe ceases; a random fluctuation rejoining with the chaotic noise of reality. Until that moment, I know I must keep fighting, battling my demons day by day until I know their weak spots and can anticipate their moves. Perhaps, one day, I will overcome them.
But for now, all I can do is shamelessly bathe in the dying light of her sunset and remember the feeling as best I can, that it may provide me with my own supply of hope in the days to come. I just wish it didn’t feel so wrong.