It was a dull morning, a grey day- one of those mornings where waking up seems more of an effort than it ever really should. The weather, the feel of the day seems to infiltrate your soul and amplify every ache, hasten every anxiety and murder any possibility-just by showing itself.
It wasn’t a morning for life. It was a mourning for life.
It grew as I moved, every step weighed down by the expectation of unfounded grief, unresolved angst and confused identity. Every time I lifted a leg it got heavier. Clumsier. Nothing felt right or part of what it should. My entire existence had become fragmented. Pieces of me floated away above my head and disintegrated in gentle screams to become one with the nothingness I felt crushing me above gravity.
So this was the start. This was the vile path forced out in front of me, leaving me no safety to tread. Had I deserved this? Was this inevitable or is this a future destined to all?
I shook off the last remains of the outside, closing the windows and leaving the desperate clawing of winter at the glass. It stared in, bearing its teeth, snapping at me vicious in its futility.
I would face it, but prepared. Not alarmed by its appearance but encouraged by mine. In all conditions, aware and defiant. Or resigned and apathetic. It all ends the same way.
There’s only ever one option, and so I pulled my leg up again, pushing it with all my meagre might to the ground- one after the other, step by stunted step, ignoring the pressure trying to attack my soles and soul.
One at a time.
Forward is the only way we move. Even when we don’t want to. Even when we can’t feel our way to. There is only perpetual motion.
We’re at the mercy of time..
It was a dull morning but I hadn’t yet been dulled by it.