The Desolate Tango
What is desolate? How do we go about defining such an indefinite word? Desolate walks down such a lonely path, its head hung low. It rains down on the poor little soul. Perhaps desolate cries to sleep most nights wondering if they'll ever see that light. You can see desolate dance with people, tangoing away the hope, spinning them around until they're lost.
Desolate can also be a plague: A grim, empty existence—an endless pit of darkness—an old castle in ruins, inhabitable by the world. Desolate, is a melancholy tune from the poor mockingbird. A lone path that never ends. A room with no doors, no windows, and no light.
Defining desolate is complicated. It's not a solid object. You can't see it, you can't taste it, you can't hear it, and you can't touch it. But inside you can feel it. You can see yourself lose yourself, you can taste the tears you cry at night, alone and depressed, you can hear the thoughts in your head telling you you are always going to be lonely, you can feel it all around, spreading like an infection. Desolate lives inside our minds, eating us from the inside out. Crawling in our emotions when we're feeling lonely.
Desolate is the feeling of absolute loneliness, the ruins of forgotten lands, and the loss of hope within our hearts. Desolation Tango is the dance we are all destined to do until our lungs run weak and our hearts fail to beat.
