AI feel there was a time when I had the answers, life was easy, I was ignorant in my adolescence. I held everything I needed to know, penned across a single page in blissful simplicity.

Then life does what it does best: fuels the insecurity. What begins as a single doubt, a flicker, blazes into the sun which casts light on my life, illuminating the fears and spotlighting them for all to witness.

The page slowly singes in the heat, its lines dull in the growing blur. Soon the page ignites and flakes off in small fragments of ashen memory, fluttering faintly to the floor. These ashes gather at my feet, taunting me with their once-perfect solidarity. The promise of sanity they once held now only dust.

I’ve never liked a puzzle, I never know where to start. Do I find a corner and build it out from there? Find a straight line, maybe? Or perhaps it’d be wise to find a distinctive feature and grow the picture from there, organically; that distinctive feature is then the heart of the puzzle, pulsing life into the image with every piece reunited with it’s estranged counterparts.

These ashes feel like my puzzle. I feel like I was responsible for the fire that scattered the pieces like a broken dream. It begins with a page, everything seems so simple in the beginning, but once time takes hold that page of ashes becomes fields of contemplation that I must traverse and slowly piece together.

I know it seems impossible, knowing my luck, one piece could be miles away while the rest taunt me with outlines of what I once knew. Yet I devote all of my time and energy to the hope that one day it can all fit together into something of pure and rare beauty: clarity.

In brief moments of confidence, I find very basic seeds of potential in the fragments of information around me. These, if fed with love and care, have the chance to set down roots and grow into something which may one day provide food, shade, life. Life to fight the current mental-desolation. As I live through my internal purgatory I find myself glancing back time after time, and hopefully in time the shoots of hope begin to rise from the ashes surrounding it.

In the distant future these will sprout leaves, flowers, fruit, shelter from the ever-burning heat that scorches all below it. This is my lifeline to one day finding the answers I need



6 thoughts on “Answers.”

  1. 😥 (those are tears of …. well, not happiness, not sadness—let’s just call them tears of emotion!) very pretty, and very well written!

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