When we first met, I was mending a broken heart. The flame inside of me was dowsed by the incessant flood of nihilism and pessimism I was drawn to. And my most recent lover, he promised freedom and wings to soar to new heights–but he neglected to inform me I would need such wings to escape the raging wildfire of his temperament. His wildfire was suffocating, using up the oxygen I thrived on, stifling the flame I worked relentlessly to nurse back to health.

Here I stand. The pendulum swings the other way, as it always swings, never with a moment of rest. Pretty things and insightful words fall short of their mark; they weave lies and instill deceitful hope of a better tomorrow. I would cast off such veiling, in search of a more efficient mechanism of self-love and inspiration.

The truth rests easier upon my tongue. It has a healthy weight these days, no longer crushed under the pedestal of perfection. No longer twisting in search of sugar coating, the crystalline gentility that drips from my words. I would see such sweetness turned sour if it offered but a moment of reprieve from the conscience that afflicts me. 

Published by Atlas Beaumont

Writer, philosopher, sociologist. Day job in education. Lover of cats, coffee, cinema, and all things good.

Create your website with
Get started
%d bloggers like this: