I now know what all this has been leading up to. All the fragile emotions, banged-up feelings, and damaged egos. All the fire and brimstone of condemnations from those who I thought could never abandon me. All the sleepless, painful nights spent in agony of a past gone by. All the despair of accepting a fate that seemed worse than death: wandering endlessly, aimlessly; alone upon the barren wasteland of rejection.
I now know why I was made to walk alone for a time. During this time, I pondered my ways, and the ways of the universe. The microcosm of my broken heart became the sum total of my being, and all was naught but death.
Yet, all around me, the opposite abounded. As if I were the sun-bleached bones of a dead thing, surrounded by lush blades and segmented, antennae’d bodies, leaping to life amongst my remaining debris.
I resented this life, sometimes. Loathed it, even. For it had that which I did not: freedom. It moved effortlessly, and without a care, while I trudged with the bent back of one who bore the weight of a thousand worlds and then some.
I survived the trauma. That is to say, I died and returned to life (or a semblance thereof). A life anew. A life renewed. Or…the other side of death, which is but a door.
All this in preparation to meet the darkness, and to do so with no fear. Or rather, in the face of fear. Because that old me dies hard.
The darkness which embraced me once, waits to embrace me again. And I go, willingly, this time. Because I want to know, I want to see, I want to feel, myself.