Read me.

They say there is a light at the end of the tunnel. But here, there is no landscape. No. That’s not true. It’s just hard to see the ground at your feet under the cover of this, the bleakest of black. Knowing there is an end to suffering, even if it lay in the far distant future, is a sort of soul anesthesia. But I can feel all of it. A constant pulsing in my gums, forcing my teeth to grind at the thought of bearing it for even a few seconds more.

But still I persist, as it does.

A quality of self that I perfected years ago, in my youth. Persistence. Survival. A personal shielding I constructed as a way of escape. Yet, the years have chipped and rusted that armor, and that all-encompassing darkness creeps inward, ever vigilant.

There are parts of myself I will never be content with. I’ve made peace with that. It’s when others, those you love… those you believe loved you once, abandon their view of you and let it twist, rot, into some form even you don’t believe exists. That’s when the armor truly breaks apart.

There is too much in this life to love. People, children, pets, all of them can hold a piece of your heart, but even a slight loss of grip, or one tiny squeeze can shatter your world. Maybe it’s not as dark as I perceive. Maybe, I’m too deep into my own head making up scenarios, fictional and yet not so far-fetched, that are absolute truth that is just waiting to appear.

Maybe I just need to take a breath.

Maybe I need to keep taking them.

Maybe… because there isn’t always a tomorrow.