This terrain is well known to me, where a miasma from despair makes the visible world opaque. Everything seems cynical. I never got used to this drudgery, just like nobody ever gets used to poverty or sickness. Sometimes I scream, sometimes I cry, sometimes I scream and cry to find a way out of this ordeal. I am left to do, as long as I am breathing, is this: summon the absurd courage to live. This “choosing” is not spontaneous! But my brain is hard-wired not to annihilate the self. It tricks and coerces me to create various scenarios—often absurd—to prevent the destruction of my self. The Almighty also knew very well that he must build an obscene amount of sorcery into the brain. Otherwise, he would have witnessed millions more self-destructions.
As long as my brain is humming along, I may not close myself off from the world. I will move around, chat, smile, cry, sleep, and do all kinds of “normal” activities. It would be insincere to promise that I would be happy to live and remain so for someone else, or it would be a false statement that I would do it just for myself.
When a day dies in the west and darkness covers half the earth, it whispers a song of promise to those who are listening and paying attention. It will return, with nothing more than an opportunity to amend, to restart, to offer a second chance, to wash away the ill from the bygone period. All souls with wounded and shattered hearts are mostly coasting through life in a makeshift sailing boat with such energy. It is beneficial – and perhaps it is the best of fortunes for the time being.