Orpheus

The temptation is too great. He drives himself to find some evidence of her presence in the world – knowing that it is totally wrong; knowing that it can do no good. He hates himself for it. He thinks he can cauterise his wounds in some noble way. But it doesn’t work. It never works. It only sends him crashing.

What was is now gone forever, but something in him just won’t give. He wills himself to wail, to scream out the poison that darkens his core. But it doesn’t come. It never has and he fears it never will.

He cannot be purged. So he punishes himself by prodding the wound. And he looks back, glimpsing an eternity.