I'm not sure what I have to do to reclaim the things I have never had in this lifetime but tasted once: before assasination, before elimination, before smashing me into not a wall, but something much less solid and much more tangible. Or were there creases in my brow always? Fate is fate and has sculpted my face. But then again, a lot of people loathe ambiguity. Perhaps I should be clearer? But clearer on what? My intentions? Only deep down do I know them, in some place in my mind that guides my actions. I don't understand how I can bungle so many half-had opportunities and how they keep coming back. Is it something on my forehead? Written like the blonde girls and dowdy spinsters I saw on Ash Wednesday. Maybe it's my fault for coming on too strong and being too honest. I think to this day I frighten away old friends with clarity. And I do not apologize or regret anything. I have always had penpals, I have always searched the world, I have always drank too much, I have always ran alone---I always will. And yes, perhaps I thought I heard running water last night which stopped when I forgave and forgot, perhaps I thought a light from Heaven and voices from Heaven bewitched me and Devils taunted, but can I be blamed for such romanticism caught in the pull of troubled waters? Desperate times call for desperate measures. Have mercy on me.
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