I realize that the site has been on ice for a while. I intend to remedy that.
The following writing I am about to share is a piece of catharsis that wants out; it is not intended to be strictly poetic nor is it necessarily a story. It is a raw piece of expression. It only in a fractional way has to do with After Terra; readers of the entire series up to this point may understand where it has synergy. Those of who also know me in my personal life and happen to know some of my situation, you would be mistaken to assume you know who I am talking about with my use of pronouns in this writing expression.
In corridors of time, she is there. So am I, how I remember me. Oh, the naivete, the shortsighted brusqueness of my manner.
In this eidetic vision, there is happiness, tangible as a fruit dangling in front of my face. Her skin, angelic, her voice, the only proof I’ve ever had of divinity, her aura, the most precious gift ever bequeathed to me.
It’s all there when I close my eyes, when I dare think I may be at peace in the night. There is no amount of castigation, no self-inflicted misery too great to exemplify the magnitude of my failure.
There is no need for a Hell, as I have properly rendered such a place in my own mind. My body may yet feel pain and may yield to the break and the fall, but it cannot be sundered in such a manner as my soul hath already endured. The rest of my miseries are but accessories to the most grievous wound that hath burrowed a chasm in my heart.