So life is the pendulum it has always been. A pendulum that can't stop swinging. Even when it comes to turbulence or fire or sunlight. It arrives at its lows and swoops to its highs, but ultimately it doesn't grow any heavier nor any lighter, only slower and slower and less and less--wild. Until it stops.
Well then, it seems I'd be glad to terminate it as soon as I can, this grating monotony of joy and sorrow interchanging. This life. So simple, really. I have the means. Why experience the joy when with it also comes equal sorrow?
Yet I don't: for fear of the ultimate pain, for guilt, for the ones who will cry when I go...
Isn't biding against the frost worthwhile, if I can know how it feels to bask in the sun? Maybe it's better to live through both than not to live. Maybe it's no better. But then it doesn't matter because I have already been given this chance, to live. I will not abandon it.
And though it's wearying and though every swing of the pendulum scars me more irreversibly, I can take that first step out into the grey morning, and proudly and simply say: this life is brilliant, and I will hold onto it as tightly as I can.
