There are moments, more and more of them lately, when the darkness seems almost omnipresent. My head knows, logically that this is at the very least, being exacerbated by the Prednisone. My soul doesn't care. It rolls in like a storm, a swirling mass of black and grey; a bleakness I've not felt since..well, since then. Back when it was all black and red and hopeless.
There are moments of red still, though not as many. A fair bit of black, when i just want to world to end, or my pathetic role in it, at least. But most of the time, it is the ubiquitous grey that swallows me up and threatens to simply leave me a shell of who I once was. I think perhaps it is the grey I fear most. It is so...nothing. It makes me feel like nothing. Noone. Like maybe nothing good can ever happen again. Like there is nothing about me that is good anymore.
Except. There is Sam. My littlest love, my last baby. He is an entirely different child than he was last time. Hell, he's an entirely different child to who he was just a month ago. I've no idea what happened, but it is as though someone flicked a switch in his cheeky 3 year old mind, and lit him up.