Prosaic.

Here, at the end of all things… Optimism and pessimism shake hands and agree to disagree before solemnly bowing their heads in reverence to acceptance. The dull roar of modern life quiets to a whisper and becomes little more than white noise, overshadowed by the beating of your heart reverberated around the amphitheater of the mind. A strange sense of self falls, the one-ness of it is disturbing. So lonely, even in a crowded room. You are born alone. You die alone. That’s what the old folks used to say, before the young folks killed them. Thoughts are choked at the back of your throat as emotions rage within, attempting to spill out in all directions at once. Fresh tears roll down sodden cheeks. That odd sense of acceptance rolls its tongue around the inside of your brain again. People are amazing things. Though they can be broken by the stress and turmoil of an impossible situation, feeling the world has upended itself on them, they find an odd equilibrium whereby they accept the impossible because they keep moving despite it. Even if they feel they can’t, they must. Life keeps on ticking, evolving and de-evolving at alternating intervals. Life, any gambler will tell you, is a series of peaks and valleys. Sometimes you are up and sometimes you are down, but where ever you are, the house always wins. Some cash themselves out early, but they are no less poor for it. Here, at the end of all things, the road ahead seems obscured by darkness, lost and lonely with no guiding lights to travel by. Unmarked signposts leave the traveler confused and dejected. The line is set and straight and there doesn’t seem to be any choices left. No forks in the road, not even a diner in sight. Predetermined. The distance, incalculable. The rigid nature of the road ahead resigns you to your fate. You have no where to turn to. You accept it because you have no choice. You turn around to step back but can’t. What has happened, has happened. It couldn’t be more simple and it couldn’t be more painful. Here, at the end of all things, when all the possibilities have been rendered moot by time and all that is left is consequence and regret, here you stand, breathing slowly, calming yourself, or trying to, as acceptance slides its arm over your shoulder, like an old friend, and holds you tight to its breast. The past calls to you but its voice is lost to the sound of your heartbeat as your pulse quickens to the feeling of the present breathing on the back of your neck, and you close your eyes to hide from the unknown abyss of the future. You pause. You exhale. You accept you have no choice. You accept that you are lost. You put one foot in front of the other and you walk forward with your eyes closed, you walk onward and march directly into the darkness, unseeing, unknowing. Here at the end of all things, you count your blindness as virtue, your regret as fuel, your faith your fire. you accept you have no choice. Your love is too strong, it encompasses everything which makes up your being, and your faith in it will not allow you to stand still. You walk on broken knees toward your future, uncertain, but hopeful that this is not the end of all things.

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