I think of those moments of despair and intense agony and desperation.
I woefully explain to myself, that I just have to pick myself up and carry on.
I say so simply, about something of such a complicated matter.
I think of how I never want to revisit that world again. That darkness. That intensity so dark, so alone and hurtful.
I would be doing myself a disservice, by not revisiting that moment or moments of sadness.
It will inevitably revisit me, it may come at any moment, any time in my life. It may be soon, or far ahead, but it will come back again, in some unexpected manner.
So every now and then, I will write about the darkness, because it is in fact what makes me the complete man that I am.
I am nothing without evil, darkness, shadowy, gloomy despair.
I am nothing without that side of death and aliveness mixed so poetic and powerful.
Edgar Allen Poe, you are a legendary figure indeed. I wish to read all that you written, and add your writings to my library that will grow as I do.
But this sorrowful affliction is like cuts to my wrist, but ultimately provides me bliss.
Intentional, and remindful, of what it means to feel as if I am dying.