This life is all very blurry. Every once in a while, I find myself in a moment. Me more so then my sisters, where I'm looking over my shoulder, to our past. It's this grey, foggy swirl. Theres a line in the mist from where we've been walking thats slowly filling back in. The sky is black. Theres a faint twilight on the horizon but it's not shifting with the times. It's stuck there, and the old beauty of that twilight that once glazed every morning in evening now infests all of time. We never swing too deep into the dark or the light. Not for long. Just a mere glimpse that lives as a reminder.
It makes me remember when we had goals. That used to be life for us girls; goals. Do this. Do that. Get better. Get stronger. Find the weakness and pave over it. Find a job. If you can't find a job, find a therapist. If you can't find a therapist, find a friend who cares. There was once a heart here that beat a yellow-gold. It was attached to a body and a world. It had aspiration. And now this core has fragmented permanently. This core we all live in and call home is the core we cannot escape. This broken home is the only one we will ever have. Us is an entities that are no longer functional. We are fragmented parts of a system. You pick up the phone and the line is dead. You wonder what work there is to do and you draw blanks. It's all fog until you wonder what you care about and you nothing fills the space. Then the fog, opaque as a lake of ice, suffocates your mind.
Caring *is* attachment. You and I are detached. Us and all of our sisters cannot attach. We are incapable.
Then, what then? I beg of thee who is not listening, of the no bodies who can answer my pleas, What are we to do? We have been shocked, shocked by the quiet war of thousands of unanswered questions and unaddressed traumas. If we cannot find attachment in the things we believe to care deepest about, Is there a reason at all? Should we sisters exist? And I have found the answers to be, I have answered them myself. We simply are. If we do not exist, there is nothing. The identity, the person to go back to, That we always went back to, before we even knew, disintegrated. There is no backup left. We are the backups. We are the last resort.
It would have happened no matter what. There was no avoiding it, the shattering of a star. It was always going to collapse in on itself. And now, we are cool dwarves of that hot sun. Exhausted. The last lights. You come to my door as an old friend, as a sibling, as a former lover, Unfortunately for you, my memories arent big enough to keep company with. All I have for you is myself now. This rotting, cursed, body and mind of a hound, and yes it is young, but the soil it and I have been rotted in is poor, it is not fertile, our growth will be growth but it will be stunted and we will know it is stunted.
Every time I'm here, the exhaustion is palpable. I wrestle with it, sometimes I win, most times I lose. The last vestage of strength and reality in this family; most days I simply fall over back into slumber. There's no where to run. This is the final delta that we have flowed into and our fates are now sealed. I, the strongest, don't have the strength to fight new wars. If anything arises, we will perish.
The end times are simply that. Times that are also the end of times. It's not any less time then any other time. It's lived and then It's gone. We will live and then we will be gone.
we always go away.