Matters of Life and the Heart

I tried. That's what I do and have always been doing, trying. Most of the time, I fail, but what can one even do except for trying? What can I do? A day lived or at least tried to have lived is a commendable thing to do in itself, I feel like. Because dying is easy, it's living that is very difficult.

I believe in one true god. I believe in him because the faith I hold keeps me sane. Even in the darkest of moments, I have found it to have presented itself as a shining lamp to direct me away from the path towards pure evil. For that reason alone, if someone comes and tells me that god went away and he doesn't exist, I will still remain a blind believer. Just the therapeutic value of it is too lucrative to pass.

Throughout my life, I have always found myself on the doors of chaos yet to be unleashed. Just a slight little push, the door moves aside, and in front, there remains a pulsating, gyrating floating in the ether, an anarchy incarnate constructed into a singularity. The gravitational pull of it is so immense that even the tiniest reluctance to fight it back results in the utter devastation of one's mental sanctity.

I have never been pulled in completely, the proof of which is me being here. Typing away on the keyboards, keystrokes of which were advertised to have a lesser amount of clicky sound. The clicks sound like a sonic boom from a nuclear bomb exploding every time I press on a key, while a terrible headache devastates my temple right now. But I am still typing away as I have nothing better to do at this moment in time to keep my inner demons at bay.

The words written above might give off a little peek inside my brain, a peek at what is going on in there. It is not a pretty picture, not really, as I am only hanging from a thread. The precious life I had made while surrounding myself with the people who I love dearly is seemingly withering away brick by brick. And the faith I have, along with the hope that makes me keep trying, again and again, their light is diminishing slowly.

The sensation of it is not new. It has been felt in the past many a time. And nowadays, it humors me, to be honest. The reason being this, the mental peace I ache for would always be elusive, and the variables of all this always push me down in a loop. Whenever it would feel like this, there would always be a pair of hands to help me out. I would grab them and hold on for dear life. But for some unprecedented causation, those hands and their warmth would always be taken away from me. I would desperately try to hold on to them, but the grab let loose even the tiniest bit always results in them being taken away along with the peace they promised.

When this happens, I always lose hope. Like a wandering parasite, I would start looking for the next pair of hands to grab on to. And the period between looks like this, me evolving into being so pathetic like an actual leach. This time too, I have found the next pair, but I feel the grasp getting loose by the second. And this time, just this time, I am unsure if I will be able to pull myself up from the gutter again.

Well, in the end, I can say I've tried, like always.