Psychic Senescence

I have witnessed another death, one that saddens me greatly. A constant companion, childlike in innocence, yet with a maturity and grace unparalleled by anyone I've encountered so far. This death was special, because it invoked in me such emotion, instead of numbing me as most incidents usually do. Such is the brevity of life. A few relationships connected to me by the length and width of a spider's thread have also deteriorated, and finally died. I have realised that it has been two years since our last meeting, and while the emotions remain strong, I have already spent two years building a new life for myself. Granted, the first half of the first year was spent in numb solitude, but I eventually regained social consciousness. As to the topic of the ivory keys that dance and tinkle under my fingers, or the pen that in my hand becomes a window into my mind and soul...I don't really know what to do. How many men have risen into prominence through their passions? History remembers many great men, years after they have passed on. Their legacy remains etched in time. Yet many more lie unseen in the periphery of history's skewed vision, and I have finally grasped the reality that perhaps I belong to the latter category. My mind is a mishmash of many thoughts, but I do understand that somewhere along the line, I lost track of what mattered to me. I stood by my principles, I fought to get to where I am, but the mountains I've conquered are just hills compared to the monumental achievements of the men I so greatly admire. I am still ill, my wounds have not completely healed, and the weariness seems to have infused itself into my very bones. Yet despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I am unable to rest. I have expelled the contents of my stomach into the toilet, repeatedly until I realised there was nothing left to spew out. *sigh* Life is a vast spiderweb, and perhaps in the cosmic scheme of things, I'm just a fly trapped in a rut, squeaking, "Help me." I have been growing increasingly restless, and nothing appears to soothe the anxiety rising up within me. Nothing is permanent, and these deaths that trouble me so greatly have only proven the point, to the extent that my heart is in excruciating pain. I only knew her briefly, but she touched me with her innocence, and her death was so very violent. The moon is stark against the black skies, and somehow, replaying the instant of death in my mind only pains me more. I cannot hate Azrael, for he is both beautiful and a necessary part of life. Yet I cannot help but wonder why he taunts me so mercilessly by taking everyone I love so dearly one at a time, while leaving me untouched. The angels give me a wide berth, but demons, both my own and those of others are attracted to me like moths to a flame. I am so weary of having to fight, of having to keep my defenses intact, of keeping my mind alert and processing all the time. Is there no respite? Have I been condemned to such a life, where everything falls apart in my darkened vision? My discontent grows with each day, and I know that as time passes, my restlessness will see me fleeing to greener pastures, even if it means yet another death. I have wandered too freely through the minds and hearts of mortal men, and perhaps that is I am being punished now. My writings have been lost to me forever, and I have yet to understand why it is I am seeking out former allies who have since become phantoms in my memories. The road ahead is long and dark, and perhaps that is why I am recalling those who once stood tall next to me as I faced my personal demons in what feels like centuries ago. Those who fought to capture my attention, to force me to understand that I loved, those who knew me before I knew what it is I am today. Perhaps it is my fear of the future, my aversion to change that leads me back to my roots. I am terribly afraid, because I know that at any given moment, I can fall and be forever condemned. Yet like most foolish mortals, I fiercely guard that ray of hope that glows faintly within my breast, in defiance of fate. There is no longer an angel powerful enough to keep my darkness at bay. Kit has regained his wings against my will, and has ascended to be where he should be. I hold no grudges where he is concerned, for he has done his duty in keeping me safe for well over a year. My friend, my angel, my lover...is gone, flourishing like the blossom I know him to be. But me...the dreams I have had recently are nothing short of terrifying, yet they pale in comparison to the horrors an uncertain future hold for me. *bows* I will remember and honour my promise to Kit, and Kenneth. Some promises were built upon lies, and false hopes, and therefore I see no reason not to break them, like precious Ming vases finally proven to be fakes. After a long 4 year hiatus, I have finally returned and started rebuilding my collection. Even if I have to do it with my nails and bare hands, I will carve out that same exact person I used to be, moulded right down to the aura of darkness only I know so well. Some people see only in black and white, right or wrong. What fools they are, not to perceive and embrace the shades of grey that lie in between, the graduations of light and darkness that have been so pivotal in my life thus far. Perhaps there is a reason why these deaths haunt me so, perhaps there is a reason why I am seeking out my old companions. Those who knew me before transformation seized me, and evolution made me unrecognisable by all who had seen me as a child. But all I can see now is darkness, and perhaps I have already been blinded by the growing frustration in my soul. There are those who have been waiting for this moment, for my fall into darkness, and somehow, I can only shrug my shoulders and allow my darkness to obscure their vision of me. I can be the sweetest angel who can calm the mightiest storm, but I can also be the darkest demon spewed out from the bowels of hell. Come morning, which will I be? It is a question someone has asked me before. My answer, after years of contemplation...is this. I am neither demonic, nor divine in origin. I am human, as human as the rest of you. Cut me, and my blood runs red. Hurt me, for I feel emotion of such strength it can bring me to my knees. Such is the proof of my humanity, but know also that knowledge is power, and power is what you make of it.
I have walked the paths from heaven to hell. But what I have seen, I can never tell.