Existence

There are moments when I feel truly drained; when all my efforts seem in vain, and despite being relatively young in body, I feel as if I have lived many more times in failure than my actual years. My soul betrays me in these moments, willing me to succumb to my demons. I began to doubt my purpose, and questioned my existence. Cynicism sets in like mercury; seeping through every crevice, poisoning thoughts, and massacring dreams. Though I may appear youthful, my inside withers away like a blade of palm in the midst of a barren desert. Like brittled bone ready to turn to dust at the merest breeze, a negative comment, however slight, threatens to disintegrate my being until I feel as if I am no more.

Yet, it is in these very trying times, when darkness hovers by, that I realize that what was once black is in fact my shadow wield by the light that flickers from deep inside. I am a charcoal, was black, now covered in gray, yet still I glow. Even though I may be dimming, I set those around me ablaze, and by virtue keep my flame alive. Is this what life is about, that once in a while, we must realize that we are not all born pure white, but are instead black as night. That from black comes gray, and eventually gray becomes white... white that contains all the spectrum of colors. White that is dust in the wind, at once substance and yet not.

Existence is vanity, in the end, we aim to become fine white powder, scattered across the plains, one in being with all things, flowing where the wind blows.