I No Longer Know My Destination
I no longer know my destination. I dropped my ticket somewhere in this sinking sand, and it falls through my fingers every time I search for it. I knew it was gone when the exhaustion became all-encompassing, its oppressive fog clouding my brain, its screams bleeding out of my aching muscles. The rain poured down from the dark clouds above me. I reached into my pocket, only to discover the map I had been carrying for all these years soaked through and useless. It was at that moment that I knew I was lost. I have replaced creative joy with chronic illness. Swapped my focus for relentless fatigue. I launch flares into the air in moments of desperation, but my cries go unanswered. I am stranded on this grief-stricken island, and there is no boat ride home. I hope one day I will emerge from bed with purpose, inspired by the newfound perspective and appreciation for life promised to me in motivational quotes and magazines. Until then, I lie here, throwing up my flares, tryi...