by Phantazein Studio

paris buttes chaumont parc silhouette

“Tu es une maîtresse de ta propre vie.”

Swept in a torrent of all the things that do not matter. These trifles are not your own. The despair consumes you in waves, at once poignant and crushing. How it mashes up your insides. Your own being slipped out from under you before you noticed its absence.

The unreality that once jarred your senses has long melded into your daily existence, surely and regrettably. There is no undoing the intricate coil of missteps and miscalculations that have lead you here. The last of your energy is exhausted in upholding this worn charade for an indiscriminating audience.

You asked for intervention with a guttural cry of survival to God himself and none came.  You’ve resigned yourself to the resounding silence and you’ve long since ceased to ask.

There is no moral to this story and there are no justifications.  You’re on your own now.