Samantha Yule Fireheart @SamIO@awoo.space

We seize, we conquer, we take every position until Death is a frail and feeble foe. We press our advantage and make ourselves into Paragons Of Feeling. We Create and we Indulge and we share our Passion.

And then something goes wrong: It all comes toppling down, all that work we put in for nothing. How Inevitable is Nothing?

More Inevitable than peace and joy and love and reclamation and celebration and shameless revelry.

More Inevitable than any Story we could possibly tell.

We All Are Dust.

Isn't it a wonderful thing to know those troublesome vignettes can just be our Story? Let us sing a while about Pain and Inevitability and The Cards We All Are Dealt.

We live in a world defined by Death; our perpetual pining to Exist is Defiance, the desire to reclaim, to define ourselves despite adversity. So we make Pain into a tool; we make Inevitability our rival; we Love, an act of Defiance; we Sing, an act of Reclamation.

Don't you see? It gets even better.

None of this matters. None of me matters. None of anything matters.

Here, I am naked and without shame. If there are eyes upon me, I hardly pay them mind. In my thoughts there is room enough for a song, and little else for now.

It will all be Dust in the end. I am the luckiest kind of thing in the world to be able to wonder and wander.

The dimly-lit floor I trample has nothing on me.

The space does not care, and I am swallowed whole by darkness.

I don't mind. I'm just glad I got to Be.

A dark place, the only light my own brim, is filled with the sounds of stamping feet and creaking wood. I twist and spin and swing my limbs through air colder than Death.

I feel confined but only overhead, careful not to jump too high. The walls seem so far away..

There is not a precious morsel in my body. Every last drop I have to give is nothing to the space around me, which would just as soon erase me as ignore me.

It's disintegrating, annihilating.

I think I'm in love.

This is my space, my empty place, and it is all for me. I share it in the hopes that one day some may find it and decide they'd like to sing with me, but that is not the purpose of all this.

The real purpose is to journal, to contemplate, to revel in my own secret way. It will be cryptic and without filter. It may be annoying or unpleasant for others to see.

Regardless, I'm going to dance, unblushing.