Tumble

How close they are, joy and despair, how fine the line that separates their sides. One day you are soaring, staring at spring blossoms, covering miles upon miles under your feet and dreaming life into existence, and the next you lie stranded in the muck, unable to move forward but just as loath to remain. Once upon a time you were writing a story, once upon a time you were falling in love and growing up but it seems now you are just stuck in the mire, walking in circles without moving your feet, now it seems you have lost your faith, and there doesn't seem to be much of a point to any of it.

When you were young, the madness crackled through your bones. Now it seems your race may not survive your generation.

It's no wonder we ask favors of the Universe. We need miracles, where there aren't even seeds.