Psychic Pull

A soft tugging in my mind, a psychic call. I know I have not gone home for over a month, and that my links to that place have begun to decay. The sun vanishes behind dark clouds as the hottest hour approaches. I am cool in my dark room, and my emotional tempest has died away to nothingness, as I predicted it would. I have errands left unfinished over the weekend, sheet music to be printed out, my silent vow to give my piano a grand goodbye before it leaves me forever. Today was supposed to have been that day. I fully intended to have gone over in the morning, emotions tightly caged and sealed, and played my heart out until nightfall, when the ousting winds would then tug me home. The hours creep past, and I am still undecided. My throat is sore, and I am seized with a sudden irrational fear that blood will once more stain my lips. *waves hand* These are mortal worries, mortal fears, and I have no use for them. My brain feels slow and sluggish, as though I am dreaming, and it feels as if I am thinking through a thick, heavy fog. The quiet pull still affects me, and I am torn between my conflicting desires. The veins of my left arm burn lightly, and I wonder detachedly if it means anything. I have half a mind to never leave my tower ever again, and remain here for as long as I can, before life drags me kicking and screaming back into the fray. The rabid panic and desperation of last night have evaporated from me, dispelled like morning mists before the sun's golden rays. It feels as though I have conquered an entire army without having moved a single step. I refuse to go back penniless. I will only step out once my accounts have reaped the rewards of my hard work over the past month. I know the dark shields are revolving around my self once more, hiding me from the world as I slip away. J has left me to fester in this hellhole where he once battled my demons for me, held me close and infused me with borrowed light. That light dims, as the distance between us grows ever larger. My heart still calls out to him periodically, but I think he has grown immune to my mental voice. I think I will remain here for the day, until Night draws me out into her cold, dark embrace. My book lies unfinished on the floor, and the blankets have been shredded beyond recognition. They can offer me warmth and comfort no more. I think it fitting. The end of an era, and the beginning of a new one. I know I will need to assume the guise of normalcy, even though I will rebel against my own charade furiously, and find ways to be the best at what I have chosen to live for. My phone keeps ringing, and my contempt for contact swells up within me like a slumbering serpent. I will allow the links connecting me to everyone else to fall into disuse, and eventually wither away. But before that can happen, I must say my final goodbyes to my piano. It is too much to hope for, that they will leave it behind for me when they move out of Singapore. My sole companion over the years, one of the few sources of comfort for me. My face and bearing will not give my emotions away, but the music that emanates from man and instrument, when I lay my hands upon my pianoforte, shall express all that dwells within my full heart. And I have chosen that day. It shall be tomorrow. A Tuesday, and then that chapter of my life will cease to continue. And my search for a 'job', and a worthy piano to replace my own shall commence on Wednesday. Until then...I am allowed to brood over the twists and turns that the Fates throw into our otherwise straightforward lives.