Each breath is an acceptance. Of who I am. Of what I’ve become. Of the gods and their games and their triumph over my petty will. At least in this I might know some relief. To cease striving and give in. Even if . . . Damn it, even if there is little hope of what I feel ever being returned. But even this agony is sweeter than the agony of sheer denial. So I’ll accept it, learn to live with it.
