It was the weight of our guilt that burdened us so, like chains that dangled us above a chasm where no light would be found. Any shimmer of hope that we once held fell until even the darkness couldn’t grasp it. The abyss called us, it wanted us—no it needed us, but a deep-rooted fear tightened the chains around us. Our bodies grew weary, but the chains were weaker and our sins casted us down from the bar that held us.

            It was a call of freedom, a call of hope that would lead us to our salvation, a flame that would subjugate our greatest fears. The sanctity of peace fought the brimstone of fear, the shame of guilt suppressed the glory of forgiveness. Our fingers shriveled up and our hair turned to dust. The air grew cold and stagnant, but our bodies boiled in the depths of despair. We were crushed under that pressure, but we couldn’t let go, we could never let go.

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            All we wanted to say was “sorry,” but words alone would never restore that glistening beam. It was the sweetness of victory that blinded us, and the acrid truth burned any triumph we gripped. It was all lies, a façade that everyone upheld. Pay no mind to the tears we shed, for our heartache is a glob of gluttony. Not even a bouquet of hyacinths on the Festival of Wind could put our hearts to rest.

            The abyss, devoid of light but deprived of darkness bloomed, prismatic windflowers sprouted along the border of planes. Light engulfed the hills of nothingness and darkness filled our shadows. A tranquil water washed over our feet and our guilt was blown away like a kite in a peaceful wind. A newfound sense of relief filled valley as everything approached oblivion.