Work Text:
how strange, you once had thought, for humans to be so conflicted; surely, feeling too much of something would be easily known. but, in the end, you're the same.
it's foreign in thought, in concept. the first experience you had with this was with cold. how strange, surely if one was freezing, trop froid, then they should easily know. being cold is simple. you feel, therefore you are.
but, at some point, the cold feels warm. such a puzzling thing; is the human mind that easily deceived? it makes no sense.
but here you are. you're an example.
you feel abandoned, trop seul, forsaken. that fact alone terrifies you, and you reach out, trying your hardest to grasp, to reach, to be heard and to hear.
but the feeling of forsakenness melts away to something more, in time. from abandonment, you feel found.
but, is this being found what is preferred? is this what you had wanted? to find yourself, not with your creator, but with that which threatened to tear you asunder, that which succeeded in doing so?
humans are foolish to believe an excess of a bad thing might equal something good. they deceive themselves, believing they might be warm, but truly may freeze to their own demise. a survival tactic.
truly, perhaps you aren't much different.
you've accepted that which sought to destroy you, even had it not been a conscious choice. how foolish would you be, such as to determine energy alone as having a motive of its own? it has no thought, no heart. it cannot discern for itself.
still, you accept and you destroy. not others, as it has you.
you destroy yourself for it, as though that is your salvation. and perhaps it may be; perhaps it should be.
your body, which no longer lives, now fakes it, deceiving even you to believe that it might. chaos and void comfort you where creation, your maker, once would. you are a shell.
and you fill yourself. perhaps too much.