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  • Listening to: silence
I love this place, this page.  The least filtered output of my existence.  The low odds that anyone ever reads any of it, yet still the possibility, allowing me to feel as if I am getting something out--even if it's still all a big cheat, as no one knows me.  Well, one does, but they'll likely let me fade.

I really had hoped life would feel different after accomplishment, yet here I am in the same position so many others have found themselves in through the millennia.

I wonder how many have truly accepted death.  I saw the world torn down around a husband and very young dying wife last week, they didn't know at the time it was the last few minutes she'd ever be awake in this life.  I was the last person she talked to.  We spoke about ... boring things.  Nonsensical explanations of what could be happening and what was going to be done.  Then in a moment, just gone.  She had asked me in her tired voice where her family was and if she'd be able to see them again soon.  I've thought through everything a few hundred times now to find any error, but nothing.  Everything was done correct.  With urgency.  With accuracy.  An almost flawless execution considering the circumstances, and yet she lies between a 97 and 100 percent mortality.  If she is in the chosen few who survive, most have debilitating handicaps.  I remember walking out of the room.  The husband was kneeling, shaking, perhaps dying himself.  A state of emotional shock, at least.  As I got to the door, beside him, I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked down at him.  I spoke with the most heartfelt meaning I could muster and then saw myself out--an end of a night.

"Good luck"

I see it every day and yet I still feel as if I fall short of acceptance.  As if I am pretending to accept it, that perhaps I could cheat it somehow.  Pretentious, isn't it?  That I may be the only person in all of existence to escape inevitability.
  • Listening to: silence
I ... I don't even know what to write, to say.  I've started this a thousand times.  Weeks spent choked up on symbols that only I will ever see, meanings and feelings that I endlessly fail to convey.

My sadness is not specific.  I enjoy being alive, but I hate life.  It's so endlessly cruel.  If evil was a thing, life would be it.  Torturous and sadistic.  I've seen the broad strokes, now I suffer finishing touches.  It's even more painful to get to know people, their families, and then watch them die.

The worst part is not being exempt.  Their death, it's you, it's me, it's everyone you love.  Someday, somewhere, somehow.  All that you and I and they ever were, blown away like whispers in the wind.  And that's just for the fortunate, those who had the chance to be or have anything at all.

I dug myself out of the ground, out of a grave, for this.  I breathed dirt and wore my hands down to blood and bone.  I fought and killed, overcame.  Yet it stays with me, my darkness.  Always there.

Tomorrow is another day.  Keep breathing.
  • Listening to: silence
I love this place, this page.  The least filtered output of my existence.  The low odds that anyone ever reads any of it, yet still the possibility, allowing me to feel as if I am getting something out--even if it's still all a big cheat, as no one knows me.  Well, one does, but they'll likely let me fade.

I really had hoped life would feel different after accomplishment, yet here I am in the same position so many others have found themselves in through the millennia.

I wonder how many have truly accepted death.  I saw the world torn down around a husband and very young dying wife last week, they didn't know at the time it was the last few minutes she'd ever be awake in this life.  I was the last person she talked to.  We spoke about ... boring things.  Nonsensical explanations of what could be happening and what was going to be done.  Then in a moment, just gone.  She had asked me in her tired voice where her family was and if she'd be able to see them again soon.  I've thought through everything a few hundred times now to find any error, but nothing.  Everything was done correct.  With urgency.  With accuracy.  An almost flawless execution considering the circumstances, and yet she lies between a 97 and 100 percent mortality.  If she is in the chosen few who survive, most have debilitating handicaps.  I remember walking out of the room.  The husband was kneeling, shaking, perhaps dying himself.  A state of emotional shock, at least.  As I got to the door, beside him, I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked down at him.  I spoke with the most heartfelt meaning I could muster and then saw myself out--an end of a night.

"Good luck"

I see it every day and yet I still feel as if I fall short of acceptance.  As if I am pretending to accept it, that perhaps I could cheat it somehow.  Pretentious, isn't it?  That I may be the only person in all of existence to escape inevitability.

deviantID

lowko
through the looking glass
United States
I still have the original photo somewhere, from so very long ago. Those days haunt me, I can never escape. It's a one way sign that points down the road, both physically and metaphysically.

The photo was taken for a class, and instead of turning in a series of 30+ some odd photos, I turned in one--followed by a notice of departure.

My teacher stared at the photo for several minutes, it was early in the morning before classes were due to start. Without saying a word he looked up as if to ask, "what's wrong?"

"I am leaving" I said, and walked out the door, forever.

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:iconlemontea:
lemontea Featured By Owner Apr 22, 2016
Yeah. We're old.
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:iconlemontea:
lemontea Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2015
:llama:
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:iconheatherrivera:
HeatherRivera Featured By Owner Jan 12, 2013  Professional Photographer
Here is your yearly hug. :hug:
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:iconsammrgn:
sammrgn Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2012  Hobbyist Photographer
:wave:
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:iconjuliasimion:
JuliaSimion Featured By Owner Jan 21, 2012  Professional General Artist
Hey, thank you very much for watching, I really hope you love what you see in my gallery! And thank you for helping me build my army of fans. :D Kidding. Or maybe not! :D
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