There’s no sweetness without the bitter. No honey without the sting.

In the dead of silence, I mutter words that ache and tear at the cavity of the heart. In its darkest depths, doubt and belief bleed together as one and pool in the lakes underneath the icy glaciers of the subconscious that bursts like Enceladus’ geysers, sending frozen water into the vastness of the void.

Rip me apart and sew me together again, this is the never ending struggle of nature: to destroy and to rebuild. Carry the sun to the west, and it will spill its glow in the east; darkness yields to light and light to darkness. Life has its seasons. The spring cannot bloom without the winter. This is the condition of the heart.