Hypnotised. I stare fixated on the dying flame in the blackened hearth.
In the right corner stands a tall knight encased in glass armour turned amber from the ember’s glow. Rooted to the ground he stands—firm as an iroko tree that spans centuries unyielding, ever resolved. Within him, beneath the glamorous armour and ironclad resolve, sits a frightened youngling, curled up in the dark dungeon of his own mind.
In the left corner stands a young frail boy, clothed in torn rags. Nothing but a sliver of strength keeping him afoot. Behind him stretches a large shadow—a silhouette of a giant, a spirit, dwelling within him.
There they stand—faces as familiar as mine own.
It is a dreadful feeling, the one I harbour at this moment, and I am as close to tears as breath is to life. The stoic once preached, “We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.” But why does such imagination hurt so true? I fear the lines have been blurred.
Alas, I succumb. I bury the brewing storm, and it ravages me from within. A damnable path I chose long ago, one that serves me no more.
The dying flame in the hearth finally fades, leaving me with the boy and the man in the dark silence of these walls, waiting for the light of dawn to guide me out.
you’re brilliant
R u batman (kidding this is so beautiful)