Psychic Remembrance

I have spent the entire Monday in hibernation, and now I feel completely charged with energy. I can go without sleep for a few days, although my exhaustion afterwards will leave me asleep for a day or two. I've been up all night, going through my old journals. There is a whole box full of my writings and scribblings, thoughts, stories, theories all penned down, immortalised on paper. Perhaps it is a morbid fascination that I have, one for a life long since dead and gone, but when the soft darkness covers me, I believe it is alright for me to read and grieve for all that I had, for all that I've lost. I remember the softness of the sun, when it shone down on two lovers enjoying a walk down the street, the warmth that a simple touch could bring. Even as I type this, the sun fades behind a dark cloud. I am not sad today, and I believe I will not be sad for a long time to come. My handwriting has undergone quite a few transformations. Actually, now that I come to think of it, so has my personality. But let's not dive too deep into memories, shall we? There is always the possibility of drowning. I remember the shadow I used to be, dark and enigmatic. I still retain faint traces of that, the annoying vagueness in my speech and my frequent attempts to fade away. Sometimes I still leave my sentences open to interpretation. Perhaps it is my reclusiveness that alienates people. I believe it does get rather aggravating for my friends sometimes. Recently, however, when the morning sun floods my room with its gentle light, I feel an emotion stir from deep within me. It isn't hope, per se, but a rather close kin. That's enough for me. I have never felt more alive, and I have no regrets regarding my past decisions. I've lived the way I wanted to, a veritable free spirit. I did it my way. I've always loved Ol' Blue Eyes. I type with my head bowed, and I imagine that I may look every part like the fallen angels I once sympathised with. This latest ordeal has taught me, however, that redemption is sought and fought for, not given freely. The fallen may never rise, for they have no reason to. My memories...while they were recorded in tears of blood, they serve the purpose of strengthening my spirit enough so that I may walk one more day in the light of the sun. And that is purpose enough. I believe I will tap into my current burst of optimism to master several piano pieces.
Was I such a bad person? Spirits from the past, hold your tongues.