May 19^th, 2008. That was the appointed day, and nearly every day thereafter… exercises in masochism, prolongations of the inevitable, living existing under that doom that I know will one day come to pass. That shadow looms over me as intimately as a lover would, constantly entwined. I’ve said it many times before in my confessions, and I’ll say it again; I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’ve endured long past my expiration date.

But there is peace in that knowledge, and I know that I’ll endure for quite some time to come, though the faces of a few who might wish it otherwise immediately spring to mind. Perhaps I’m projecting my self-deprecating perceptions onto these ghosts, but no matter, for the fact remains that Purpose remains in my life, even as these characters exit it. They impart their lessons and I carry the weight of them until I decipher their meanings. And then I carry them around some more.

This is the cycle and sometimes it has to repeated, but as of late I’ve shown remarkable progress in my ability to learn.

My life has been marked/marred by a continual need to create, marked/marred by my countless attempts at turning these long bouts of emptiness and despair into something serene, if at the very least, worthwhile, for it is only there in that phoenix-like process that I’m born anew, able to endure a little while longer. I live and I die by the merits of my work. That’s a blast from the past, yet under the scrutinizing gaze of time and introspection, it still holds true.

Perhaps this doom will forever stall in the wake of my creations.

Perhaps my parting words will be gasped as old age claims me, their nature revealed as one resembling complete satisfaction.

Perhaps no words will be spoken at all.

Perhaps the flirtations will come to an end in my sleep, and in that dream-state I’ll at long last depart into the great unknown, ushered off by this eclectic cast of characters whose stories now unfold in my mind.

An idealist can dream. That is after all, my nature.

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