After all the pain, after all the tears, after every failure I can possibly experience, there’s light. At the end of the tunnel.
I know I can feel myself running, sprinting, plummeting towards that light. The injuries because of the fall don’t matter, because that light is still there, glowing bright. And something inside me tells me that this light can heal all the pain. If not heal it, give me the strength to deal with it. This light may not be able to heal the scars in my mind and soul, but this light can give me the courage to accept myself.
I cannot get myself to say ‘my heart’, because I think I’ve lost it. Maybe I have. But my mind is still there, a constant reminder, a guide, whispering to me that mistakes have been made. My soul is still there, continually scalded by the weight of the guilt I carry.
I don’t grieve for another. I don’t grieve for a group. I grieve for me, for what has become of me, for the whimpering, unimportant entity that I have become. Yet, I am far from pitying myself. I berate, chastise and agonize over the mistakes of the past. Not to waste my present, but to remember that I did not reach my complete potential.
But skipping is not a solution. Escapism is not my way.
I shall live to see the end of the tunnel. I shall fight every storm, get through every quicksand. Or die trying. There is no one to disappoint but me, and nothing hurts more.
I know that I will have to leave my past behind to get where I wish to be. I am happy. The hurt is probably more than I want to carry for the rest of my life. But the past cannot be discarded selectively. If the memories of pain must fade, so must the memories of joy.
Deep down, I do know, that for the light, I’m willing to give up all.