The tides of emotion are relentlessly in motion. I wish that they were stagnant for a month, no, but a week; yet they ebb incessantly. I can gain no momentum, no solace, whilst I fight the current of my own spirit. I cannot get a tight, permanent hold of my own will. I seem to continually fall: yield to temptation after a meager struggle. The loathing, lusts, lethargy, doubts, depression, and derelict demeanor rush to drown me each time I begin to come within sight of the shore. I continue on, half-heartedly, knowing in mind that things will change, but failing to assuage the turbulent soul. I will eventually reach a shore, though perhaps not one that is desired, or expected, but needed. I pray, and I do so with desperate, yet resigned petitions, that I will have the strength day to day; it always comes, but in daily doses. I am resolved to weather the storms, but the flesh is weak. Resignation or restitution, time will tell; and it is in the waiting that I drift with the current of my faded spirit and tides of times.