Dour III

One day, it will all end.

Mine has ended. I can’t, for the life (or death) of me, find it.

It is gone now. How shall I mourn for it? Where has it gone? What has taken its place? What have I done to deserve this? Is this a little lesson to put across the evils of pride? Do I really have too much of it?

Questions. Unanswered. As always. The words I have, the answers for myself, are never enough to fully satiate the desire to have them addressed adequately.

Or perhaps, there is nothing from within that is able to sustain me thus far. Is this the reason why the weather has turned greyer than usual? Or is this mere coincidence on the part of the cosmos?

Why the overbearing and overwhelming feeling of emptiness, O my soul? Why the sadness, despite the pill? Why the despair, when there should be wells of hope, bubbling from within at the prospect of a glorious future? Why the pessimism?

I have no answers. I can only entertain speculations which no third party will be able to analyze, assess or deduce how legitimate they are.

Is my family falling apart? What if things just happened one day? Where will I be and how will I be able to take it? Why do I seem to despise the love I have and crave for the love that I will never get? What is it that prevents my heart from committing to the one decision which I am afraid to make right now?

One day, it will all end. Somehow, I actually entertain the prospect of it, just because what I have as the present is torturously unbearable.

God, please take the cup away from me. Please.