.....die, one day or night.
From a very early age, I can remember looking around my class, and thinking to myself, "Which of us would make it, and which ones would not?" Hard to say why such thoughts would even rise. Being young did not keep one free from seeing the change we call death. So many friends, families, those who were close to us in this long protracted death we call life.
Some say that if you repent, have remorse, or still have feelings for those you have lost in life in one way or the other makes you weak. But, those of a refined Gothic Life understand that, this life too shall pass. It has nothing to do with politics, religion, or ill-guided philosophy. It's just a stark reminder of the reality that we live in.
I do find myself missing friends, family, and being alone at this time -those who were my closet lovers, those people who crossed the edge, and took me to the edge and back. It seems lovers come and go, but there are nights alone in bed, where I wish...for a moment to relive those simple shadow throws in the night.
I think I repent for I have not embraced the fact of death enough to fully embrace and enjoy life. I do not think I always appreciate every second of life, as it dwindles into a nothing, never to return. I think I have remorse because maybe I have not appreciated all the living, yet dying actors upon this world stage. More seem to leave than return to their final applause.
I think I regret not loving others in the best way that I am capable. I think I regret not being able to love every lover with all that my passions will allow. I think I detest all the hurt, the emotional duress, or all the evils I may or may have not brought upon others. Maybe it is a flaw of mine to want the best for others, and yet, I do fail at times. Maybe my idea of love is antiquated and completely out of commission. Maybe chivalry and being some kind of anti-hero was not the most virtuous path to follow.
If I could change things, I have no idea if I would. Give it all away, probably. Morn all those that I have lost due to my own ignorance, my own imperfection, my own foolish zealousness as if I could conquer the world as a hero daring to fly where only fools and angels dare. Yes, the sky is filled with them all, and yet, I stare in awe and wonder at them from the tomb of the cold earth.
From different belief systems, and personal hard-learned lessons, understanding the un-ending change towards some fickle finality never seems to inspire the lucid revelation that there might be something more than this.
Oh these bones, for what other bones have they loved? And, have other bones loved these bones? I know not, though the memory of having my bones loved at least once, would be more than never having my bones loved at all. Covered in the costume that is this thing we call skin -does it really convey all we have to offer one another when all other material things have vanished into the parlor of a bottomless abyss? Or perhaps a pendulum swings until its final stroke sounding the end of all that is the music of life. Maybe I fear the music of death as much as being without a lover. Maybe isolation and loneliness is a cruel form of deprivation that ends the flames of the soul -if such a thing exists.
Make the most of all of your time if you can. Love other bones as if they were your own bones.
Remember, that you will...