Part I: Morning’s Choice
Though my eyes found little sleep, I arose early this morning, finding a bit of optimism with the first rays of sun on my face. The pain of my reality again reminded me of its faithful companionship, despite never being officially invited. For a moment, I debate whether my optimism is based on an authentic hope or more naivete I again sold myself to. I decided it doesn’t necessarily matter as it feels good to have a breath of fresh air in my lungs and thinking. After all, I realize that not only my efforts, but my life, will rapidly cease to exist if this journey proves as futile as all previous attempts. I do not fear how I am walking this path alone. How can I when I have been so well-acquainted with loneliness even my own reflection often appears a stranger?
Long ago I heard rumors that a full and meaningful life was possible. Just now I don’t remember when or where I heard this. But I have already known a life full of the pain no one wants, of the shame no one can hide, and been found guilty in the court of my own mind and others that I am not worth knowing or loving. I suspect to live a meaningful life would require sacrifice, but I have nothing to give. No one wants the poverty I would offer. I have nothing but ashes left of my memories. Even as the morning wears on and the light of the sun brightens, the road signs are getting harder to read. I am sure my heart has left a trail of blood from its brokenness. I am not ashamed of my honesty, only that the lament of my tears will not cease.