I know the rustling sound that Death makes as she wends her way to the bedside
the way the breath catches, the heart rate slows
measured by beeps, punctuated by alarms
it was all inevitable in the end
too weary for tears
that dull gnawing ache thrumming through your nerves
though close you lay with Death, so close you could touch
you know you're still alive, so very much alive

I've always believed that despair is not synonymous with the absence of hope. But it now just occurs to me that despair is actually when you begin to believe that having no hope would be preferable to the slim fragile sliver of hope that you're clinging to, even as it wounds you with its seeming impossibility, like a piece of shrapnel inching its way slowly through the flesh of your heart with every beat, as your life's blood seeps away drop by drop while you pine away for something you can't figure out how to achieve, no matter how many nights you've spent lying awake in the darkness, your gut paralyzed, silent, and still, acid gnawing and rasping at your entrails.

Maybe things are not so still, though I wish it were so. I can feel Time swirling all around me, and I’m just trying to keep my head above the water, wanting to just stay still, but knowing that I’m going to keep moving whether I want to or not.

I had thought that I had written something about some long time ago, but I guess I haven’t. (Although I must admit, I don’t really feel like digging through my entire blog archive.) I admit, I haven’t watched “Nausicaa” in a while, but I think my favorite Miyazaki movie is “Spirited Away”.