Four words, Forwards

Night time always brings about the flood. The downpour of suppressed thoughts, painful memories, and rains of regret. They fall free from the precipice of worry. It’s always so dark when the daylight falls.
I pick up the shot glass of pity begging me to indulge, because I know what is to come. I need all the warmth and the forgetting to flood my veins. I am bitter, as the taste, full of resentment.
I hate them all, how they dare leave me alone and misunderstood. It is so hard to fight back with such extremes in opposition. The entire world is mounting their attack. Swords drawn, riding on horseback they bear down upon me in fury, demanding their pound of flesh. I can even make out the voices of “loved ones” front lined in the infantry. This here is my final address, the end. How I got here I don’t know, but it will be my final destination, the valley of the shadow of death.
I’ve never shown weakness before; I’ve always been so strong. The taste of salt running down my face stings my already bitter tongue. I suppose all is bitter in these matters. My eyes will stay shut. I don’t want to see any of you who have betrayed me.
All is cold. Every inhale reminds me that my moments are numbered. As the mist puffs form from my forlorn breath, I place my hands in my coat pocket and come across a crumpled piece of paper. I pull it out and through blurred vision, read four words that open sky to heaven shining down on me. “You are not over.”

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