The Fall

I see myself being devoured in darkness. An abyss, the infinite depths of which scare me as I am being pulled more into it; fear takes hold of me as I pace down, uncertain of when the fall will stop, of when it will end, and along with it, may be my own life.

I know that the sooner I touch ground, the sooner I will cease to live, for the fall accelerates, buffered by nothing. There is absolutely nothing to hold on to, and even if there is; the darkness yields no vision of such an object. I wish I had seen more clearly as I walked, as I trod the paths that led me now, though unwillingly, here.

Has there been more great a dilemma, as the one I face now? A part of me is clinging onto life, praying that this fall should never stop, that a ground beneath should not exist. And there is another part which wants this trauma to end, to meet the ground, to stop being in the anxiety that hurts more than my heavily pounding heart. The former is definite of its fate – would there be no end to the fall ever, life is certain. The latter however is not sure – will it be hard ground, or will it be something that will absorb the impact, that will help me land alive and not crash to my doom.

Though confused the other part is, but more reasonable its desire. For a life with worry, a life only to exist, one with the sole purpose of being alive is more stagnant than death itself. You may still move, you may still breath, but only that much differentiates you from the dead.

Though confused the other part is, but more reasonable its desire. For it is better to take a risk, to be sure eventually, than to be at the mercy of a fall. You may live at the end and develop more purposes to be alive, more dreams, to live for; or you may encounter death, but the prospect of a better life, a life where you live, is better than to just exist. A risk taken to gain a life with more possibilities is better than one with no real purpose.

So now, I dream. I close my eyes, ignore the fall, the strong drafts that pushes my skin inside. For now, I dream, of what I would do when I live, I will plan of my steps once I land, I will be ready for my life, if it comes, as soon as this fall stops.

I may hit hard ground, but till then I would not spend my time praying for the fall to last; instead, ready for life, I will make myself, if life, not doom, is what awaits at the end of this fall.

Funny thing about lying to yourself

Funny thing about lying to yourself?
You start with one, or a couple of lies, that you tell to yourself. But then you have to keep adding more lies; keep stacking it. Then it comes to a point where you are surrounded by it, like a wall, but not thick enough to prevent peeps. Hence, you feed the wall with more lies, and soon, there is no padding, no space left between you and your lies; you are covered by it. Soon, you are, the very lies you told to yourself. But you don’t stop creating lies; you now feed yourself with it; with every new friend, every new question, you eat more, making yourselves immune from doubts, and later, preventing yourself from an identity.
Funny thing about lying to yourself?
You may just forget, what the truth was.
For now, the lie is what you live.
For now, the lie, is what, you are.