Enough

I will never be enough. Eternally, all that I am, in my entirety, has never been enough, though I have tried. In the end, looking down on it only made me small. It made me so small that I shrunk until I disappeared. Then it was the only thing left. Endless and boundless, infinite. Beyond my short sight, it was beautiful, moreso than I could ever see or let myself see. I may continue to keep myself blind and angry, but someday, I will face it.

And I will be happy. In my own way, though it may be hard, I will be in all ways happy for it. And then, though lost, I will find a road to follow and will follow it until I have truly disappeared somewhere in the stream of things. Somewhere on my own, in the the far-off distance and future.

For now, as I am, unforgiving and unwilling, I will always be this way. I will always be useless and stagnant. And, though I may continue to try, I will never be enough.

The years are starting to seem so short while they trail off into nothing. Lives all around me are changing. Even the lives of those I am closest to, if only in subtle ways. Everyone's eyesight must be reforming, coping to the changed world around them. Even my own eyesight has. It isn't enough to just live. You have to feel completely, utterly through your veins, rooting them deep into the earth. You have to breathe through it, and through others, and then through yourself. It isn't enough to just stay awake.

Days seem long, it's true... there is no worth in self-sacrifice. Nothing to do so for. It is all long, boring, stupid and silly. For who, for what should I fight?