Centre of the sun

Sometimes I have to manually negate all the peripherals in the background in order to mitigate the noise. It overpowers when smothered by these inevitable events wrapping me into its tendrils all at once. Were I a wiser man, I would give up on one of these poisons and choose anew, but at this stage I have consumed much of the copium to just give it all away now. Maybe it truly is my rightful might. Two years ago I inhabited this persona of a multitasking man for the goal of winning an aesthetic. The aesthetic being that was the anima of a live anomaly from a far and away land, where dunes were all too common with their beaches and the daily warmth of the sun swallows each and every one whole. It was a long and winding road to a painful end, the kind of which echoes in my mind to this very day. Perhaps I should have heeded my own warnings. I told myself before the excursion to prepare for whatever eventuality should that decision result, but the results were far more sinister than I had anticipated. It had remotely wiped my wits completely off of my senses. I was all in for the new aesthetic, and despite the prior warnings, I begrudgingly hoped that the results will yield some form of vindication. The only thing that kept me afloat was knowing that I was alone before and still alone after. Nothing changed except the pittance of the wind. It was made worse when a few months later tragedy struck. Funny how my self-imposed phobia of calendars flipped according to the whims of fate when a year later I rose anew from the ashes, and still the grievance retains, albeit in a more easily consumable form. I hold no grudges for the perpetrators; the aches were more self-inflicted, arising from the desire to finally be made whole. At long last I am whole, once again, and I have the pain endured to thank for that.