My Once Crowned Goddess,

Do you remember yesterday? That whenever I wrote, I wrote with such ferocious tenacity? Now, for the love of me, I couldn’t even write to save my own life. Vices and devices are wasted. Nothing works anymore. It’s my fault, really, why I’m in my present state of mind. I shouldn’t have fallen prey to my own villainous self. The part of me that is glorifying his evil nature, and declaring he will stop at nothing in his blind quest for self-gratification. The part of me that has no conscience, and lays the blame for his villainy on his deformed heart.

Old Bill couldn’t have said it better “And thus I clothe my naked villainy,With old odd ends, stol’n forth of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil”. But no, there is reason in these bones, still. If I give in to my most basic self, I would be no different from a child clamoring for a long lost companion.

A true villain, I am not. I am merely a man still afflicted by the symptoms of his own indecision. And it would be truly unfair to you if I were to blame you for all of this.

But I must confess that, That villainous part of me is the part that is waiting foolishly for fifty-three years, seven months, and eleven days and nights for something that is unsure, still delighting in his own prostration and delirium whenever you are remembered, still vertiginous from the memory of when we first came into the presence of the each other, still clinging to that moment where our conversations seemed to last as long as the day itself, still nostalgic whenever a place where we’ve been is passed. Still thinking of what could have and should have been.

It is with great sorrow that I end this abruptly. I have burned myself alive with every single line. There is still much that I wanted to say but I fear my eloquence has escaped me.

Unexpecting and unrepentant