Despair Cares Not
She comes with the rain. The autumn rain. The cold one. The one that pulls the leaves to the ground. The glowing leaves dragged to muddy piles where they are left to fade and crumble. She likes that. Likes watching the vain and gossipy leaves brought down low. Punished for their pride. It is the rain, of course, that does this, not she. She merely accompanies it, steps thoughtlessly from drop to drop, spreads herself between them, floats on some travelling group until she slips away, rolling and bouncing. Revels in the chilled darkness.
She sits next to the fire. The summer fire. The dying one. The one that lit the world with the illusion of sunshine and joy. She does not need the warmth, the glow. She is here to watch it die. Stare at the breathing embers surrounded by smoke and ash. She considers the desperate attempt to hold on, to warm a house so drafty it can no longer hold any remnant of summer’s promise. Shrugs as the last throes of Hope drift away with the smoke. She does not bid farewell to her old friend rising above the fire. She knows she will be back soon enough. Will try again. Will fail again.
She lies upon your dream. Your morning dream. The one that goes on a bit too long. The one that means you’ve already slept more than you should. Are overdue to wake up. To attend the day. To work. She lies upon the dream like a heavy blanket. Stretches it out as she invites you to watch just one more. Reminds you that the room is cold and the world is dark. Ask you why. Why rise when you will only fall again like the autumn leaves? Why not stay warm under your covers, close your eyes, pretend to sleep until the dream returns?
She sits upon your shoulders. Your weary shoulders. Your shoulders that have begun to feel the soreness of sitting too much. Sleeping too much. She sits upon your weary shoulders and whispers in your ear. Whispers tough love. Hard truth. The futility of faith. She reminds you to face the facts. To stop dreaming of what could be when the world has shown you so clearly that it cannot. My friend has been lying to you, she whispers. It only gets worse from here. Better to see that now. Save yourself the trouble of further heartbreak. Accept your fate and be liberated from your dreams.
She is not cynical. Not she. She cares nothing for herself. Cares nothing for you. It matters not to her whether you be selfish or generous, loved or lonely. She has no motivation. No goals. She merely invites you to see the truth alongside her. See the world that lies beneath the lies we tell ourselves. To comfort yourself with Despair.
And she will leave when she pleases. Perhaps when her old friend drifts back upon the spring mist. When the pall of Hope once again obscures the bitter truth beneath. When the sunshine and rainbows make her sick with dread and she wanders off in boredom.
Or perhaps she will stay.
She cares not.