What is it to drift closer into a reverie, about a life well lived?
The architecture, and the path bound thereto.
A life, yet to be realised. Subordinate only to my family, stands as a primary driver of my fortitude.
What happens when hardship is the only language life has ever taught you to speak? Perhaps that’s all you’ll ever know. One finds themselves longing for the quiet of the end, just to be exempt from this unending loop. Year on year, one is forced to bear the brunt of this reality
watching your own strength erode. You simply do not have what it takes to fight anymore; You are so deeply, entirely tired. A struggle so absolute that it feels like the very fabric of creation, heavy, where even prayer seems to lose its way. One wears down so quietly,
I am stuck in a loop! Reminiscing on old days that bore the semblance of ease, but had their own hardships. And a future etched right before my very eyes; clear to my sight yet beyond attainment. A stinging urge of longing for a fairytale only a reality in my dreams, my vigils.
I always feel compelled to speak plainly of what I cherish in people. The small telling choices that make them who they are. I cannot keep them away in silence; they must be known. And if, in time, all fails, I can rest with a clear heart, knowing I offered and held nothing back.
On a daily, we press ourselves towards a hope that will not yet be born, and feels like it can never be realised. And most times, the will grows thin and it seems like a luxury to get up and continue.