The Last Day of February

It's the last day of February. No leap year this year. I didn't know that. So I wonder what kind of an excuse I will find tomorrow, for the month of March to pretend I've still got time about the things I am supposed to be doing, but aren't? I can't fathom any now, but I am good at finding excuses. Tomorrow is a long time from now, and I am sure I'll find a couple dozen by then.

Astray

There is this sense of void inside. Something that is wrong, missing, have gone astray, away from its original purposes.

You know the news you receive you're supposed to graciously accept, things that happens to normal people and under normal circumstances it sends them over the moon. New jobs, new positions, addition to family, new cars, new apartments. I can't seem to relate to those news, or identify with those normal people any more. Those are so far away, they almost feel like green alien creatures from bad Science Fiction movies with plot holes and horrible acting, the cheaply budgeted and the horribly written kind.

There is this feeling that one of my ribs have been broken and with it stuck through my heart and then drawn up to my throat where it's lodged neat and tightly there. I can't seem to speak, I can't seem to feel and I certainly can't seem to act like a normal human being.

I know I should. The excused I do throw out are fluff and I know it. Not that I should need an excuse. I just can't get my act together.

Acceptance

Now that all the tears have been shed and all the sides have been heard, not ignoring a single comma, and the decision has been made, unanimously, there is no escape, no alternative, no other choice.

Okay, but how about embracing it. Acting on it, and knowing for a fact that you will come to severely regret this choice, this prolonged waiting period, insecurity and emotional wilderness that seems to be eating me away bit by bit, chipping away at my chest. But I just can't get myself to get up and do it. I've done everything else. But I am afraid to get it officially announced. It would make it that much more real, that much more true. It is going to leave me devastated. Being devastated is also not doing me any good. In fact, it will do me loads of harm in the future. I can see that much into the future. "Know Thy Self" has always struck a chord with me, ever since I was a child.What is the solution?

Acceptance is the hardest part. There is no reconciliation between the heart and the mind in this topic. I am even afraid to acknowledge that anywhere but here, aloud. Especially, not in front of S. It's tragic, really.

Simple

I want to be far away here, in a very far away time period, where none of this will come to matter, because we would be so removed from the situation.

Having dealt with this, having faced the consequences and eventually learned a way to move on. Anywhere but in this slice of time, where my own thoughts are killing me. The battle of the mind and the heart is never easy to swallow and especially bitter when the topic is something you've desired for so long, longingly, yearning and hoping for the day your dreams come true.

Only if...well, we all live our own sins eventually. How about the price others pay for our sins? What about them? What should be done for them? Would any kind of apology we offer sooth the pain away?

I assume, more than most likely not. I don't have a magic wand, so I can't time travel to a future where this is no longer the prevailing issue of the time. Then the only option is to weather through the severe storm and hope for a brighter day.

Is it so simple to do so?

Bach

It's not the strings of violin you touch, the very strings of my soul that seems to resonate as you draw near.

Don't pull and trudge them. My fingertips bled enough and you're dangerous when you're near my soul so much.
It stirs so much in me, inspires me to the moon, momentarily I can do anything. You move me beyond myself, out of myself, far into the future and so far into the past that present, time merges into one. Nothing really matters, when you're here, in my womb.

Edgar Allan Poe

Sir Edgar Allan Poe,

On restless nights like these, I find comfort in your wonderfully morbid tales, your macabre stories and the darker part of human soul seems my identical twin.

You bring some sense of normalcy, adequacy and understanding of my own tumultuous and very sick nature. The nature I try to yield to another nature, another set of habits and mental behaviors that never seems to last too long, or long enough to get me out of the rut completely. Instead, I almost always emerge with one leg still, that keeps pulling me back in, without even realizing that it's rather scary. But I find the fear of it to be alluring and that seems to be acceptable in your tales.

I find my soul mate in your characters and it soothes me to know that I am not alone in these damn awful thoughts, observations and patterns of behaving.

I am sorry your life ended so abruptly and that to this day, we still have no idea what exactly happened to you on the last and following to the last days of your life. I wish we knew. I am sorry you lost the women you love so early in life. I am sorry that such horrible experiences paid the dye of your soul. But I am glad you became the writer that you are, written the stories you have. At least, I have you to keep my thoughts company tonight.

Love,

Sincere Fan!

More Than Poe's Poems

Once things sink it, the feelings slowly crawling around my heart, on my arm is horrid, like a slithering snake, tightening it's hold over me a little bit at a time. Patiently waiting until I can no longer feel, savoring in the anticipation and the taste of it's prey.  I have become prey to my own self.

The clouds hovering are ominous for more than just Poe's poems.