A spark grows into a flame. A flame eventually burns into an inferno. And like a moth, I am driven towards those embers. Embers of hope. Huddling around these dying sparks. Trying to keep the hope that drives the flame. Ss it slowly sparks out. You feed it tinder. Anything you can find. You put a smile on. You try. You stand just a bit taller. But that just makes the sparks succumb to the ever blowing winds more. The winds of life. The inner hurricane that has racked me for far too long. You say Itll all be fine. The winds will stop.. right? But slowly, you accept it. You start with denial. It.. cant be true, right? Then you slowly descend into acceptance. Ever so slowly. Until your shaky legs cant hold you up anymore. You lay beside those embers. You stare at them. Those flames of barely sparking hope. The smoke rising from that fire is doubt. It has slowly been rising. Eventually it makes you cough. Makes you breathe a bit more shallowly. But you brush it off. You’ll stop the doubt.. maybe.. probably not.. you could never hope that away. You’ve tried to put hope into so many things. Tried to lift up a torch. Light up someone else’s life. You slowly try to be a shoulder to lean on. That makes your embers spark up a bit. Maybe it’ll be better. Maybe. You put all the effort in. That bit of weight on your shoulders is still there. But you don’t let it define you anymore. It’s there. It’s crushing. But no one else needs to know. Then suddenly. The wind blows the final gust. Whoosh. The flames sputter out. Leaving only a bit of smoke. That smile falters. Everything falters. You feel the static. It cant be held back anymore. You’ve lost hope. That you’ll be better. That anyone could appreciate your fleeting presence. Writing these novels to the sky. To the void. They get swallowed up by the infinite abyss. Like anyone sees them anyways. You stand back up. You’ve lost some of that tallness. You’ve lost your presence. That is reflected in your voice. Your vocal cords feel shredded. Nothing can smooth that forever. Like you even had a noticeable voice in the first place. And you lost the hope in that long before. About time it all caught up. Eventually the age will catch up too. And you’ll be missed. Right..? Maybe. Probably. Not. Time has slowly ticked down. Call me Chronos the way time seems to fly. Itll all fly away soon. Tick down. Tick. Tick. Tick. Another day passes in a blur. You try to hold on to the moment. But the time is never held on enough. Like grains of sand through your grasp. Now you clutch those grains. You try and spark that hope back up. But all you’ve made is this glass shell. The ‘hopeful’ look. Glass. And now the flame has been gone for far too long. Who knows. It’s been a blur. If anyone is reading this far. As if they’d notice. Or read. Or care. And now my hands shake. This constant vibration. But it’s not visible. Not visible enough. Visible as me. And im unseen.
