everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

I am a wraith haunted by broken dreams; I haunt them back. I am a butterfly whose wings have rotted away, not knowing where to go from here. Is life worth living when the qualities that define one's identity have been stolen? When living turns into languishing? When time is cruel and the future too obscure to even imagine? I've stood at the precipice of a wasteland, tempted by the call of the void. I find myself returning to this brink time and time again. Some people are the victims of their own existence; some are the benefactors. Some bodies are sacred vessels; some are flesh prisons. I am caught at a critical juncture. Existentialism, defeatism, nihilism--lenses through which I confront my view of reality. As I muse over them, they start to blur into one another, eclipsing each other more and more. In spite of it all, I am still here. Still warily wandering through this wasteland in passive pursuit of hope. I wonder if, and I think I might, take a look, take a look on the other side ...just one look -Aurora Aksnes, "All My Demons"