and there comes a day when you sit with yourself and realise, this is it. this is the company you must endure, and in that moment, as you run through every infinitesimal quirk that defines you, creates you, gives you the descriptors that aid that deep wavering sense of fulfilment and joy, you are hit with the true vastness of this reality. that truly, this, in and of itself, is it. there is no one coming to save you and suddenly you must face the twists, and the turns, and the knots, that’ve shaken the essence of your identity into something cemented; cemented in the true sense of being alone, in all of its glory. you must face the truth that the verbs and miseries you’ve been cyclically meeting since a very young age are in fact, there. and that they’re always going to be exactly that - there; and every word you’ve ever thought of and verbalised meets you on that staircase, and as you continue to climb you must, you absolutely must, see the very steps you began at. under the shadows of your flight, and perhaps even, in the hues under the soles of your very feet. nothing has ever made more and less sense before, but your back straightens out, and your hands go in your pockets. spare change galore. it is all simply there and you take comfort in the familiarity of its existence, of this pit that is to come, in the very deep hollow crevices of your chest and more.