Forgive me universe for I have sinned.
Itâ€™s been too long since my hand set in ink to lay down my mind.
I know that I have been sent here to deliver, yet time was always been on my side, and accustomed to that I retreated to the non mystic areas of life to be alive.
I have yet recently discovered that what I am accustomed to call life is not nearly that, or at least I had forgotten.
That my time was spent on daily non-profound things like working and enjoying time as it passed by me, yet now I sit at home wondering how was that I survived all this years lost in the darkness of the endless paper, on the devoted white.
My letters have returned with more power that before, my dreams become stories to tell again, not just situations for my personal enjoyment.
Where have I been? I wonderedâ€¦ even now, my old self still regrets my sitting down for it means that not only will I be sitting down some more, but that a Muse has returned.
How did I manage to fight her?, that I still have to discover.
I can hear the voices again, echoing to write, to be heard, to avoid the whiteness of forgetfulness and to be out into written form, just to exist, just to keep me quiet.
Me? Or should I say my vehicle?
I have been blessed with a mind that is as sharp as the tongue of a warlock and as powerful as the wind that bends the trees. My vehicle for this life is good as others except for one thing: My heart lives broken.
I must emphasis that broken is the way that it is living,
When ever my heart is healed, it simply does not feel a thing. It survives. It merely survives.
Once broken, words come to mind and they donâ€™t stop. They overflow logic and overpower might. They, as mind, try to live though me.
Putting them in little containers of local stories I have been able to maintain sanity, yet by far, this time my vessels for thoughts are far too weak.
Maybe itâ€™s because I have to yet discover another way to become me and not my vehicle, or maybe itâ€™s because I canâ€™t contain the power that they hold today.
To this date I swear: I will live through this.
I will retain my self, even as I have lost me in several other encounters with love, I shall prevail on this. Funny enough, I will survive. (Thanks Gloria)
As blood that runs through me, my magick will continue. If I manage to fuel it with this passion I will become stronger. More accurate. More me.
I will remember the far cries of warriors that now sit at Valhalla, I will endure this fight for my light and I will improve. I will remain me, but better, maybe even able to love with sanity.
For this time I remember who I am while in love, and I love the power that it bestows on me.
For when my heart decided settle on her, one that is not for the reaping, it broke and life began again.
I fought it, for I knew that my promise had been broken: â€śI shall never feel this way again for anyone less that my poet.â€ť
I know now why it was so easily broken: I never felt this way before. A logical love, a lover selected by knowing and by forging. A mind as mine.
I could only held my breath when she shone her light on me.
I clearly understood why it took me.
Her light comes with reason and passion as well, something that I have never tried to do, something that I never dreamed of doing, for I believed them two different things. So she came to me as light, and power, and teachings, and I could not resist.
Now I pray in my black marks on white, to hold sane in between her sights.
Because now remember living, and life begins with hellos, and ends with goodbyes.