Ephemeral

Ce soir, je me suis rendu compte d'une chose.
Days go by, and I seem to have a desire to enjoy most.
Mais, je m'attends aux jours que je sais que je ne les aimerai pas.
And such a cycle goes on and on and on and on.
Jusqu'à je le remarque.
I wonder if it is my thinking that causes such fluctuation.
On serait d'accord avec moi.
There are thoughts which work their way around my consciousness.
Elles viennent de mon passé.
But is it really my own past?
Je ne vois que les choses qui n'existent plus.
The possibility of this seems to be rather null.
Cependant, je peux la reconnaître comme un paradoxe.
I see all things around me and know them to only be imprints upon my mind.
J'ai appris.
For usage in need.
J'ai essayé d'oublier.
But it is not the way.
Je dois désapprendre.
And I must make the journey back.

The light at the end of the tunnel is most certainly not an oncoming train, lest I somehow believe it is. No, the light is a reminder. Of what I am, of who I am. My journey through the tunnel is ephemeral, for soon I am to realise that I am here, light, and that the tunnel was merely an illusion, never having been there.