Life is for some of us the Sisyphean task of existence. It is the inescapable endless cycle of climbs and falls, growth and decay, springs and autumns, summers and winters.
True happiness seems to be separated from us by an imposing wall of impossible height.
Each cycle, I have attempted to climb to it’s top, and pull myself over. Each time I have reached higher, yet fallen so much lower.
Will it ever end? Will I ever feel my fingers grasping the wall-top, pulling myself up and over? To finally end my endeavor and take a most-deserved rest?
I don’t know. But my Winter, my night, is here once more, and this time I despair of ever seeing a Spring again.
In truth, I do not fear the cold or the dark. I have always found beauty in the frosty dusks and in the forbidding nights that follow. I have worn them all as cloaks of comfort, wrapping myself away to heal in their quiet solitude.