This Is Purgatory

Between the happy and sad, the pride and disappointment, one finds themself believing in God, the great equalizer. Not out of desperation or some silly whim, but out of the middle, the centrifugal force pulling to reality, what is indeed stranger than fiction. Ennui has the stranglehold, its grip tight and loose simultaneously; the fundamental distraction from love and fear, and the space to be traveled. It’s found in the air, being breathed in, with the excursion through the lungs and capillaries into the bloodstream being as meaningless as itself, but as infectious as sin. It is worse than heaven, and it is far worse than hell. This isn’t the place where things go to die, or even beg for forgiveness. It is where they wallow, where no light is shed, and where the only things teeming are body systems, blood and water, air and carbon. It is the quintessential moment of ‘uhh’. Where love is a name no one has ever heard of.