People are mistaken about the nature of despair. They are often too priviledged to truly understand the hellish depths of it. They take on the melanchology, finding it tragic and beautiful, pursuing it in the Petrarchan way. But despair is stark, beyond pain, pitch-black and you keep falling, never knowing exactly when impact is to occur, but almost wishing you would hit the ground and shatter into that state of unknowing. Feeling the physicality of the experience, knowing the climax of the pain is imminent, yet indefinite, kept on the edge, shrieking silent in the hollow vertical tunnel. Everything is so dark that you cannot see, even with eyes wide open. There is only wind and your eyes hurt with the stinging of it. So black, your senses fool you. They become numbed and useless, giving rise to this sense of displacement and loss, such that you feel that perhaps everything is simply suspended in a vacuum of nothingness.
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