at the foot of this altar

the altar is cold and unforgiving, hard stone against soft skin. tears cushion my damp cheek as it rests near the patch of moss. this shrine has not been used in years, and the wood sitting on top has wilted in the rain. it is funny how the world is silent in the face of abandonment.

i turn my eyes to the stars above.

i used to come here every day, faith strong as iron in my heart as i stood steadfast, my young face turned to the seemingly unending pillar of belief in quiet awe. now, i am much older; there are bags underneath my once-sparkling eyes, and my body is tired. i do not even know why i came here. nobody can help me under these blanched columns. 

my mind has not stopped whirling around in circles, and it is beyond me why i cannot grasp the confidence i felt all those years ago. how did i kneel at the base of the altar and proclaim my religion over and over again with no hesitation? how did i let myself get taken underneath that holy water with no fear of drowning? how did i study those scriptures with my whole heart, drinking in every word as if it would save my life? it seems impossible, for now i can barely lay on the ground near the statues of worship without breaking. 

once i realized what i could not find here anymore, i had traveled the entire world, hoping to find another altar -- one that was full of life and light. i was so hopeful back then, hopeful in the face of heartbreak and despair. in the end, the latter triumphed, and i ended up back here, where i am today. my hair is long and my feet are swollen, and wasting away here does not seem like a poor option after all. better to die in a familiar but lost home than to die in a strange and anxious land.

i have accepted my fate. i ask the deities i once tried to find to forgive me for the sins i have committed -- it is not their fault that my eyesight is poor. i take off my cloak, the last protection i have against the elements. my sandals are lain on the ground, pressed up against the stone wall. before i lay down, however, there is one last thing i must do. i turn around, facing the altar as i once did when i was young, and beg for divinity to reveal itself to me, so i may know that i have not been forsaken my whole life.

the world still stands silent in the face of abandonment.

i lay down and breathe my last.