A light I once deemed illusory and intrinsically mythical, synthetically a beating heart erected to cope with eminent doom in these dark days, and the ones of old as well, utilized by countless generations in the midst of famine and destruction, is now to me a faint possibility. In the days of my utter youth, ones where I had crawled on all fours, pressing a stinging soil beneath me, whose poisons soon penetrated, and upon the adolescent years, I was destined for the dark affliction of angst and depression, which I have since then continually woken up barred to, an inmost siamese virus whereby I've been blanketed. This veil, a predecessor to forgetfulness, vanquishing of hopeful thoughts, memories, and anticipation, has up until this very day conformed itself to the canvas of my weeping, estranged, and emaciated body. But at today's dawn, I had found myself feeding once again on what has been taken from me by psychological famine, today breastfed by the rising sun and spacious orange arms that surround me as I look up: an unjustified, irrational sense of hope and eagerness., Whether not in the end such speaks to some greater and higher truth, I believe it is this simple sensation which many men and women are driven by, consciously or unconsciously. Including myself. I have long lost the tongue to taste a motivation, but today is different.