Nyx

Continuous, ceaseless, constant, it never ends.

There’s an unknown weight atop of her, constantly bringing her closer to the fierce water down below, ceaselessly threatening her to end this once and for all, continuously pulling and tugging her down, desperately urging her to go under, to enter the dark depths of the unknown.

But she can’t. She doesn’t know what lurks underneath the surface of the blue, but she knows that if she dares to tread the water it’ll surely be her end. Even so at times entering the depths of the unknown sometimes is tempting, as the weight upon her dares to force tears from her, to make crashing down onto the water below sound like something of a dream, a relief, something she’d want, she’d need, she’d desire— but, but she can’t.

She’s searching for something, somewhere.

Is it worth it? She can’t answer that question, as she hasn’t found what she searches for, she can’t tell if it’s all worth it yet. She hopes it is, but as the days go on and on and on and on— the weight only increases. Perhaps it isn’t worth it. Maybe nothing is worth enduring this— but she’s not doing this entirely for herself.

There’s creatures stuck upon her frigid body, occasionally fluttering their wings, their colors, reminding her that she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t plunge into the murky depths of the unknown, not with them aboard her body. They wouldn’t understand! They wouldn’t. They don’t have a choice but to stay by her side, they wouldn’t have a choice if she went under, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t know why, they can’t feel the weight, the pressure, the emptiness of it all.

Sometimes, she despises them for it all. The weight’s desire influences her own, or perhaps there never was an actual weight upon her. Maybe it’s just that she’s heavy as it is, that she’s grown tired of it all, that the weight is coming from her own body, her wings, they’ve grown to ache, to manifest themselves into this ‘weight’ urging her to give in for just a little while. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? To at least float along the surface of the unknown, to rest a little while—

But she knows that it’s all over if she gives in. They know it too, becoming restless whenever she threatens to come closer to the sea, to just test the water, to just have a sip of the enticing poison underneath— they beg her to stay above, and she must.

They’re a burden, but she’s nothing without them. Sometimes, she even sees herself within them; stuck. They, too, have nowhere else to go but onward, they’ve stayed so long with her they know nothing else, she knows nothing else— they’ve become one, in a sense.

Sometimes she wishes that they, too, would like to go under. They don’t know the constant weight she carries, how it ceaselessly pulls within her being, continuously dwells within her mind, chest growing tight, throat scorching, wings wishing to curl against her own body, to curl up into nothingness—

But she can’t do that without sinking into the depths below, into the unknown, the end.

She still lives within anguish, but that’s okay. She hasn’t grown to accept the weight, but there’s simply no other choices she has. They’re a burden, clinging to her this way, becoming dependent on her— but she’s dependent on them, too. Without them she would’ve ended some time ago.

For now, it just never ends. It’s continuous, it never ceases, it’s constant.