I trek yet again to the same solar synopsis as I had the year before seen and it is the more clear that nothing can become as crystal clear as I might hope for. I am aged. I feel it slipping into the fabric of my own desires. It, as a tide of pain and frailty, has ascended the sandy shores of my hopes and landed upon my heart as well as my body. How many more trips can I expect, if expectations are at all to be trusted?

I have cried and buried. I have laughed and loved. I have yawned and slumbered. I have stared into the core of things. I have seen nothing.

As each of us ambles towards that distant and indistinct shore we are not the courageous victors that our childlike aspirations would paint us to be. I myself have spent a quarter of a century pursing vain attempts at glory that I would distain with my whole heart, for wealth that would imprison me as quickly as I would have it sent me free. Yet there is no hope of grace in my desires, little had for the hopeful and companionship for the hapless.

I am squandered of my own devices, torn from my own dreams by the utter disillusionment of my own desires.

But furthermore I have come to grasp the need for a deeper purpose than I can of myself aspire. Some calling that goes beyond the short breathe of my own existence. Without it melancholy is the only recourse and the murmur of disappointment the beacon call.

Yet as another year springs upon me, I am yet still and steadfast. Perhaps I can will impunity move towards those goals which humanity is unable to attain and unknowing of. Perhaps, or sadly I may be complacent with another year.


Saddest Sunset - Lili Haydn