It is apparent,
gauging from my presence in this pitch black room,
that I have taken a wrong turn
somewhere along the way.
I look around,
my arms stretched outward
feeling for a wall with a switch,
to flip on,
to fix me,
to change this.
I'm sustained by motivation,
though it has waned over many years of telling myself
I took the right path,
I made the right choice,
I wouldn't change a thing.
In the dark
it is apparent
that's a lie.
I see the darkness,
my eyes are open and absorbing the nothingness.
So funny it is that I don't recall there ever being light,
and yet I know this pitch black room is not where I belong.
out of place,
out of sorts,
out of time.
How does one make sense of a mistake?
To know it has been made,
irrevocably and unchangeably altering
the very fabric of space-time itself.
How does one go about forgiving oneself?
Mistakes made alter you,
pixel by pixel,
inch by inch,
blink by blink,
into a pattern of controlled chaos
that, without these mistakes,
would cease to exist.
How can I forgive myself for being me?
These questions linger like a malady,
the cause undetermined,
the cure unknown,
the consequence defining the very core of my being.
I have no recollection of entering this pitch black room,
but accept my fate and the decisions that have led me here,
aware of being at the mercy
of forces beyond my control,
Stephen, congratulations on your front page write and win! This truly is an amazing piece. I think we all go through these questions and doubts of choices we've made. The fact you are very aware of your present situation and thought process are all positives. You can only move forward and the mere fact that you are writing again speaks volumes that you are doing just that. Well done my friend!