The illness circles back like a storm on the horizon, you feel the pressure change before you've even looked out of your window. A week ago, how sure you were that the return of sunlight had washed your senses clean, that you were leaping into the freedom of remission. Now, instead, you grapple with the crumbling columns you'd built to hold yourself up, see them falter against the light of reality. List your failures in a neverending loop behind your eyelids, stack your virtues on the scale and see where the Ferryman takes you. You promised someone a long time ago you would not die, and it has cursed you to endure the unbearable for an entire lifetime. One foot in the styx, one eye on the horizon.
Nothing matters.
How can you make it so that you do?
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