like petals, we must eventually fall.

The spring weather was enough to make anyone,  including myself, even the least bit content.  The grey blue cloudless sky radiating the gleaming  sun-light was the indication, that winter, was in fact over for the year. Opening my curtains to a blinding stream of sun-light to enter my room, I thought to myself that perhaps I should depart from my bedroom, which I had withdrawn myself into for the past several days. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a total recluse. I like to go out, socialize, have a good time, but perhaps I am more elated in the company of myself, and a good book. I guess you could call me an introverted extrovert. I pulled another jumper over my head, and left my room, following the sounds of excitable cries from children playing together outside. Although the sun bright, the air was still crisp and cool and I was glad for my extra jumper, the wind causing the trees to cast silhouettes that  danced aimlessly on the freshly-cut, damp grass; small children skipping through the shadows, laughing, without any care in the world. I watched these children, and felt a strong longing for my childhood again, a pain that tug at my chest and i found myself wishing to go back to a time when there were no real worries or fears, although I could not remember a time when I did not feel this way. 

I made my way over to the large rose bush situated in the corner of the garden and found myself automatically pulling off the dead heads of flowers, and the petals that were slightly wilting, dying. The withering petals that i dropped, fascinated me. The brokenness of them, catching the wind as they fell, the force of gravity almost battling against the wind, causing the petals to fly and dance- a beautiful and peaceful resemblance to confetti, dancing, lost, free, in the air. The petals were not beautiful, however. They were dead. The edges of the petals decolouring, deteriorating onto the edge of dissolution. They were not free. They were controlled; the forcefulness of gravity inevitably dragging them down to the ground, killing any vision of beauty and peace. 

We were like petals, I thought. Like petals, we must eventually fall. 

Perhaps continuously, over and over, until in our final moments of weakness, we concede, we fall.  To the forces of, not gravity, but perhaps the forcefulness of our own selves; our own forces, our own emotions, that are unconsciously our own enemy. They drag us down, just like the petals, dragging us into the deepest darkness that we all carry around inside of us; deep, hidden away, but not, however, far enough. Because our own forces take a strong grasp on ourselves, resulting us powerless, a victim; pulling us down further and further until we are drowning, drowning, dying. Drowning because even we cannot save ourselves, even our own human buoyancy cannot save us. But we are not under water, we are here; and we see everything and everyone in the presence. And in this way, we are conscious, conscious of our existence, unfortunately, but in a way, we are dead. And soon, this darkness, this deadness becomes too deep, it closes in on us, suffocating us. Inescapable. Inescapable because perhaps, the only person that can truly save us from our own damaging and forceful emotions is ourselves, except we cannot. We cannot save ourselves from the deep pit, this labyrinth of suffering and emotional sickness, and we cannot get rid of it because the darkness, our own personal travails and sufferings become part of us, part of our persona, embedded into us, forever. 

The shivers shuddered down my spine as I came into realization that we are all, two people in one. We are our conscious, shall we say, 'normal' self, but also, our unconscious self, that is hidden, deep away inside our minds. These two people, the strongest, deepest and ironically, closest enemies. 


The End

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