I feel old. Like time and chance have passed me by and now I am just marking time. That I’m just waiting for my last hopes and dreams to die. I think about the things I’ve done and the fortune I pissed away by living way higher than I should. I think about the double lives and lies of my youth and the requisite silence that surround those years. About how there are none now alive who I can talk with about those times. I think about the memories that haunt me. The failures most of all. My failure to protect those in my care before I even formed the philosophy that makes their care a mandate. My failure to see the wrecking ball coming and the last remnants of a life wiped away when the soft beep of the heart monitor drones out the long flat noise off all days fled.
My failure to fly to your side when you needed me. My failure to anticipate the need to take things a little further.
I’ve had triumphs. But they only serve to highlight what I could do if I were on top of my problems. That’s probably too harsh but it’s what I feel right now. I often think that if you dare to love me, that is the worst mistake you could make. Because all who’ve loved me either die or see their lives thrown into chaos. Not by my hand but still, it always seems to happen.
And I find myself deeply, hopelessly in love and loved and I watch as, helpless, things continue to contrive to keep us apart. Is the universe that much of a bastard? All I know is that I won’t walk away from you and that I will do all that I can to get to you.
For the first time in a long time, I am bending all I have to a task. Let’s hope that it works out.