Last cup of sorrow
This is my truth. Written for myself. The future me. The one who I could`ve been.
The shape of all things is predefined. Just like our lives. Our small, fractured, insignificant lives. Yet, we seem to be full of hope and desire, as the time treacherously passes us. We`re always searching for answers, for life-giving purposes and, at some point in our lives, love. The answers come as they see fit. It`s not our struggle that brings them closer. And some of us don`t need long, time consuming purposes. But we all could use the last one.
We`ve all been through it, at least once, and it made us, in part at least, better. That`s the misconstruction of love. It doesn`t make us better. It just opens a part of us that was always there. Whenever the dopamine and oxytocin kick in, we`re left defenseless. That`s what scares me. Being unable to withstand the power of my own brain` chemicals, I will surely succumb to its enslavement.
However, it seems it can be fought, subconsciously. You may call it sabotage of self. You can find yourself bitter, even when you`re most happy. Looking for wrongs during every step. Or maybe that`s just me.
I made peace with myself, a long time ago. And even so, I can still feel the pain that can bring down even the best of me. To what end I will fight? Over and over again, it`s nothing but a fool`s errand. I have it in me to try and stop this inevitable endgame. And still, I don`t. I lost more battles with myself, than with anyone else around me. My own worst enemy is hiding somewhere inside. The whispers, the thoughts, the lane-changing attitude, they`re all a part of my own plan to make me miss the fun and games the kid inside is setting in my way. We`re all children, `til the moment you know you`re gonna die.
Then, I pick myself up and travel forth. Again, as it`s my first try. I never think of it as failure. Just as lessons. Very hard, life-altering lessons. Or, at least, that`s what they`re supposed to be. Maybe I never learned anything from it. Maybe, in this matter, I`m just as simple as the sheep that follows the others, instead of being like the bird that I respect so much. I took the name of the last and feel like the first, on the inside.
And maybe my destiny is not to be great, not to be loved. But just to be. A cog in the machine, if you may. A boring, dense, gray machine.
Finally, I`m sure I can pick myself again and walk away. Maybe hoping of a different ending. The one I think I deserve. If the brain is so powerful, why not working for me? For all I know, it`s just mocking me, and helps me, at times, for its own amusement.
I challenge myself, again and again. I set limits and rules and pathways. Different from the ones before. And sometimes, I don`t. I give into serendipity. Hoping for a different endgame. The one that I deserve.
No fear is as great, as being alone again. Without that drop of serenity.