Fear governs our life—that soul-sickening dread of loss. Once we’ve obtained our perfection, anxiety creeps in like the demonic force it is to steal our light. The truth is a nice dash of salt in a fresh, cavernous wound. Once we’ve tasted the sweetest perfection, savoring it on our tongue, everything that follows can only be bland by comparison. Or worse; a sickly sour. Quickly becoming a rotten bitterness that roils our stomach. The higher we reach, the further we descend immediately afterward. A crushing low. A torrid pit of hell awaits us at the bottom.
