Fire and Darkness

This physical illness has eaten at me for too long; I have spent countless nights putting my life on hold due to constant disease and ill-health, which consumes my ability to act and think in a proactive way in my life. I am alone in this city, and I see how my life is a delicate object held together by fragile threads - my job, my relationships, and my vision in life could all break off at any moment leaving me alone in a state of poor health unable to truly deal with the world around me. There is no quick and easy solution, but everything takes time - like being stuck in a purgatory - both physical in terms of my slowly improving yet fluctuating health, but also mental and emotional in terms of my constantly fluctuating emotions and sense of hope for my future.

Yet, in this darkness, when I can find no hope, and I look, and all lights are extinguished, all lights are gone, and the old images no longer can be activated - empty and forgotten pictures hanging in the hallway, closed doors that can no longer be open - then there is nothing left but to fight the good fight with a fool's hope - I will rise in the morning, and though my body is a dim and fragile object clouded in fumes and sunk in terror, I must rise and fight, fight to live, and fight to die. Fight to live so that if these storm clouds pass me by, and the sun shines upon me once more, I may find myself in better conditions than I did before and see how my struggles in darkness benefit me during my times in the light - and then fight to die so that I may truly die with satisfaction - that I may cleave to life until my very last moment when I can let out my final breath - a sigh of relief that I had continued on and fought until the end without ceasing. Then, upon expiration there will my story be written within the annals of forgotten history recorded upon the fabric of time - yet if anything or anybody ever cares to look or listen upon my brief and painful tale, as unimportant as it is, they will at least see that I perservered.