There was a time when I was dawn, was light, was dream. I drank and danced. I sang and fucked and balanced my life against others. And in the end it was a creature of darkness who acted as my savior. Through her love I rose from the chrysalis of seeming placid life. A false front, but one that I embraced for her. A false front that became my life when I failed to save her as I was saved by her. When she was taken by a coward who fled before me, I lost myself. I fell. I embraced the false front as if that was all I was. I ventured out only when I could breathe no more, I woke slowly from that nightmare. Something fully realized only when the coward was found and dealt with. But my Morgan is still dead. That pain will always be a part of me. Something that is brought home when a memory resurfaces or even when a book character recounts the loss of their love to murder. I’ve recounted this tale several times. I tell it each year at about this time. September 19 is the 11 year anniversary of her death.
I apologize to anyone who would love me. I have a past. I have pain. I know that life is fleeting. It makes me reckless where love is concerned. I throw myself in, because I know that this all ends. I know it all to well.