Early one morning, I saw the dark.

In a mirror, my glance tells us:

Sleepless, deteriorating soul.

One day someone noticed my coffee-stained tee.

I began to copy what I wanted to be,

A light beaming with energy.

I am to imitate until I can become

One who talks about nothing and everything –

Infinitely growing.

Eyes narrowed, I stare down at my palms.

Deep crevices etched into my flesh since birth

Meander lazily from end to end,

Telling a fortune, a future, a fate

That changes from eye to eye.

Years ago, I looked down to see silky skin

With a youthful glow, a satin finish.

Slender fingers sprouted up like fresh flowers -

Crisp, gentle, dainty,

Ignorant of the new world in which they have appeared.

They moved clumsily, but curiously

Exploring, learning, experiencing,

Oblivious to the toils of maturing.

Now, I look down to see a different picture.

I see a textbook, a history

Of the life that I’ve lived.

The once velvety plane, now dawned with callouses

Tell the tale of physical toil,

Of endless hours spent training,

Of countless tournaments played,

Of unforgettable victories, and unforgiveable losses.

The faint glow of paleness encircling my ring finger

Depicts a contradicting saga.

One of unrequited love –

A love that still does, and always will prevail;

Existing strong in my heart, just as prominently

As it does not in yours.

Yet it also reveals one of unrelenting love,

One existing in the ones whom I’ve given life,

And at the same time have given life to me.

A love that carries no burden nor sorrow,

But only hope, brightness, and unending vitality.

Though my hands ache now,

The youthful glow long faded from my skin,

They are still tenacious.

Til the day they cease to move,

They will continue to guide, to nurture, and to protect my loves;

So that as they continue to grow,

They will fall farther from the tree

And not become so calloused as me.

At the gaping lips of a cave

You stand empty, alone and forsaken.

Like a seductress, pessimism tempts you

Away from the bright lights, from the fresh air.

She has corrupted you, blinded you, made a fool of you.

How could one so smart be so moronic,

To fear the dark, yet take more steps towards the void.

You long for help, but you close your eyes, refusing to wake up.

You seek advice, but you plug your ears, maintaining your pace.

For years, I’ve acclimated to the dimming lights, the weighted air.

Trotting by your side, shouting in your face,

Tugging your arms, pulling you back.

Optimism has kept me afloat.

I’ve always thought I could win,

That I could turn you around,

That we could go back and emerge together.

But optimism is a double-edged sword.

In my frenzy of hope, the accumulating bruises, the exponential exhaustion

Have gone unnoticed.

I’ve awakened, now unfazed by pessimism and

No longer star-struck by optimism.

I am tired. I am done. I am realistic.

With conviction, I let go, and I turn around.

I look for the light, only to see the slightest freckle of white.

Wading through the darkness,

Forever blinded, forever lost,

A fool fades away.

Trudging towards the light,

Freshly awakened, freshly enlightened,

A fortunate fool emerges.