What ought?

On the cusp of a prayer fulfilled.

There is blood. Blood spurting from my face. The smell of iron. The feeling of inner emptiness. Of something that should be inside flowing freely outside. Of life being squandered outside.

We tell of stories. Of emotions that are strong. Of promises made and kept. Of mutual sacrifice deep and unnoticed. Of battles and struggles long and arduous. Of mistakes made and restored. Of opportunities squandered. Of hopes and dreams and fantasies. Of late nights and early mornings. Of expectations and disappointments. 

So many things can bubble under the surface of an innocuous life. Tomorrow is just another day for everyone.

I always thought the person singing "end of the world" is very melodramatic, the world doesn't revolve around you. 

I think all these strong emotions, these promises, expectations, so on so forth have being, have life of their own. They matter. They take on some form that cannot be seen with the naked eye. And they are weighty. The deepest desire of a man has effect, it "is". Hey, and it's death is something that "happens" and "is". I suppose since angels rejoice over a decision, it really "is".

I'm afraid of forgetting. I've said it before. But now it feels even more final.

A day where things all line up. Where you score critical hits on all the dams, all the valves, built over many seasons in response to many a previous flood that drained the reservoir. Before they are healed.

I'm afraid of forgetting. And tired of grasping and weighing. Today I grasped at straws again. And persevering. And holding. I am really afraid of forgetting. I don't want to forget. But I can't remember much now. I remember that something should be there. I remember the broad outlines, but the definition is lacking. Forgetting is so profound, if you know you have forgotten. It's like a reference to a file that has been removed, like the picture that used to be on the margins of this blog. Which was taken down when I suppose photobucket didn't pay the money for the free account to host the image. There's a hole. And it is supposed to be nice, I guess. Something good used to be there. And the shape of it is still there. And the effects of it on the rest of the lay out is still there. But I can't see it anymore.

I'm afraid of not having what I think I once had. And of killing an ideal. A commitment I made to myself. Perhaps foolishly, perhaps rashly, probably idealistically and innocently.

To which way shall I turn? For tonight.

On which path shall I walk for the rest of my life?

Wheres the background music?

BUT IT HAS TO DIE FOR NEW LIFE. GRASPING ON TO OLD LIFE DOESNT MAKE IT BETTER.