The end of my life

It began with a line in a song. 'I still believed in my dreams'. Then another song, another tag - 'I can't stop loving you'. Then a sentence in the book I'm reading at the moment - 'the sacred fire has gone out'. The combination of the three, in less than an hour, timewise, has made concrete something I've known, really, for quite a while. The fact that, at some indeterminate time in the recent past, my life has ended. Not my existence, oh no, that continues implacably, for who knows how long - another day, a month, a year, a decade, I can't see it being much beyond a decade - until my health, or, equally probably, my psyche, determines otherwise. But my life, in the sense of that florid phrase 'liberty', the freedom to be myself, in this context, 'and the pursuit of happiness', is over. I wrote, a long time ago, that it would be over if I ever accepted the implications of that most terrifying of words - 'never'. And I was right. I have, somehow, allowed that word to defeat me, and my life is over. All that's left is going through the motions, with nothing in what remains for me. Even the dream I wrote about last night, of an 8/9 year old boy being my friend for a short while, is virtually certain to be as hollow and dripping with disillusionment as all of its predecessors. Would that, as again, I've said before, I'd known how it was going to be when I was a terrified boy, terrified by the realisation that I wasn't going to be like everyone else. I'd have taken the short cut to the end, there and then.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B