It was one of those days, one of those mornings when everything was wrong. It was suppose to be a good day today, and yet I found myself slamming my fist against the wall again and again. This rage, this complete and utter hatred of life consumed me.
The throb from my bruised knuckles did not leave me with any remorse.
I was tired of remorse, tired of guilt. Life had lost its luster long ago, and I had thought that if I could just touch it again. If I could just breathe in the beautiful air, that it would revive my stale lungs and add rhythm to my fading heart.
I am not strong enough. Not without Her.
But here I will struggle, trying to bathe in the light only to slither back into the darkness. And fall again.
Garen Gavinwood Community Member 
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Community Member