Falling.
Always falling.
In love, out of love, in to trouble, out with friends.
Falling everywhere.
I can't escape. I can't stop falling.
Everything falling all around me.
I fall through time, everything falls around me.
All of it out of reach, ready to rise again.
It has hope, so, do I?
Love falls towards me, a beautiful thing, warm and red.
It falls past me, empty and black.
Is this what I have made it, or what it has made me.
Empathy strikes me, letting me know.
I can help all, but never myself.
Is this what I am, merely hope for others?
But what does the hope I bring mean.
Is it sanctuary from their fears.
Is it the mending of a broken heart.
Can it heal a grieving soul.
Does it help them live just a little more?
And what of me.
Hope falls past, a blazing trail of sparks.
I am the sparks, scattering through the darkness.
That is why I am always falling.
Not away from my life, but towards others.
I may never know true happiness…
but…
on my fall…
I can ensure others will.
Now I am desire.
No one else's but my own.
But what do I desire?
Someone.
Something.
Deep…
Buried…
…not carnal…
but atavistic.
I need something.
Someone.
I need to find something.
A piece.
The piece.
And as a revelation, falling.
I need to find the final piece.
The final piece of myself.
But where can I look.
All I can do is fall.
Help others.
Wait for things to fall past me.
Maybe one day.
Maybe one day I'll get lucky.
Maybe that final piece will find me.
Find me falling.
And save me.
Save me…
before I can no longer be saved.
And then I realize…
it may already be too late.
Perhaps I have set this piece of me adrift myself.
Now I am the cold blue shadow of despair.
I wrap around others' misery…
and take it from them.
Sparing them, torturing me.
But in the black mass of misery there is a spark.
That spark is hope.
It is not mine, as I fall through the blackness…
but what I bring to others.
Falling.
Always Falling.
Through the darkness.
But around me now, little sparks.
Motes of golden light.
Spiraling around me.
Hope.
Mine.
