They say all wounds heal with time.
But how do you measure time
in a place with no light?
I could not remember
how long I had wandered astray
in that empire of endless midnight.
Colors had all bled out.
Black had swallowed blue.
Gray had ashed over red.
The sun—
if it had ever shone there—
had disappeared behind a veil of stone
and had become nothing more
than a distant memory.
Where days blurred into one long, unbroken night,
the sadness took,
and took,
and took again,
like an insatiable parasite
burrowed in my chest,
suckling the sap from my soul
the way strangleweed chokes the life from trees,
its roots worming within me,
feeding on the rot it had planted.
I felt its bony fingers tighten around me
and pull me forward.
So, I walked
with the dull resignation
of something too tired to resist,
hauled down a path
I had never chosen,
but could no longer turn from.
The road ahead felt cursed.
Each breath was heavier.
Each step was a leaden weight,
dragging me closer
to the unseen flames
that licked the edges
of that night
that had forgotten dawn.
Somewhere along the way,
I had stopped missing anything,
except maybe—
that stupid part of me
that had clutched at hope.
Yet still, I pressed on—
though that endless march felt absurd.
It led me to the bank of the river
that had been calling me forth all along.
The black tide was whispering my name.
A faceless boatman was standing there,
hidden beneath his hood,
his lantern spilling firelight
across restless ghosts.
He seemed to be waiting for me.
I did not ask his name,
and I did not bother to ask
what price must be paid
to cross to the other brink,
because there are things you already know
before the question leaves your lips,
and deep down,
I already knew
the cost.
I thought about it.
I really did.
But just as I was about to step forward to embark,
something,
some ridiculous,
whispering ember in me
begged me to stay.
So I turned my gaze
from the void where darkness swelled,
and I looked upward.
A fragile glint absurdly far ahead
beckoned me forward
so I left the boatman, his lantern
and the churning river behind me
and I strode
upon that fateful shore,
dragging this body I barely recognized.
And the rage inside me,
the one that tried to **** me—
it quieted.
Just a little.
Just enough
for me to feel the air
still filling my lungs—
even if it tasted of fire.
Yes—
sorrow still draped its veil of stone over the clouded mornings.
Yes—
the wounds still ached beneath the stitches.
Yes.
Yes.
All of it—
Yes.
And yet,
I finally started to feel the blood flow in my veins again.
So,
I started to climb.
And,
to this day,
though weary,
though worn and weak—
having tasted the night,
having stood at the edge where the flames licked the dark,
having turned from the river that whispered my name—
higher, I rise
to emerge from the chasm.
For far beyond the ashen clouds,
I know something awaits.
Something vast.
Something luminous.
And I know—
one day,
when I step beyond this darkness
and pierce the cindered heavens,
the planets will greet me,
they will lay their blazing rays upon my shoulders
like a tender vesture of celestial gold,
and crown the scars upon my skin
with their halos of fire.
For I know the endless skies hold light
for all who dare to seek.
