Dawning On Me

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those it will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these, you can be sure it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry.” - Ernest Hemingway

When the sky has fallen in your own little gravitational version of an Earth, a world you called you own, only then will you finally realize it was already fathomed by the stars, written by the Fates themselves. The universe has a funny way of existing, I’ve always thought. It forces pain upon your back like a Sherpa carrying the ropes of many up the mountain top.

Pain is inevitable. And how ironic it is, that you need it to survive. And the sad thing is, it either becomes your drug or kills you. But drugs and death have always been tied together, haven’t they? Those who bear that cross are the most strongest, but also handicapped in a way. They have lost a once functioning part of themselves to the darkness, to the shadows that lay behind the veil. They fall to pits of despair, drenched in anger and misunderstanding, but they thrive. It is a civil war that will never have enough bloodshed, never enough ammunition. This tragedy is part of being human, the price we pay for existing in between the lines of Heaven and Hell. It kills the light inside of you, and some days you won’t feel entirely as yourself, or recognize the back of your hand, but such an experience is worth a thousand kilos of gold and silver, and sought out by many who otherwise would be looking for guidance from the stars.