My Iniquities

There are days I can feel the darkness ebbing, seething, bubbling below the surface, trying to find a fission in flesh for its release. Over the years I have learned to temper it, keep it in check and even for long periods, completely ignore it. There are times however, when this feeling is overwhelming, and it is during these instances I keep to myself completely, coming in contact with none.

I had an episode today. When I visit the Great Square, I am always careful to detour a certain alley, an alley that clings to property I once owned. But today, in my hurry; to accomplish the one thing on my shopping list, I took the quickest route, which in hindsight, was the longest path. The window had been broken, a window that once held the warming and inviting glow of lamplight. The door, one that I had painted in the hue of purple, per Charm’s request, was still sturdy, and to my dismay, locked, but I already knew what I would find on the second floor, in the apartment that was once my haven. I wondered who owned it now.

I think this is why I keep such few personal mementos of my life. It’s one thing to think about the past and revisit it over and over in my mind, but completely another when I see the tangible evidence that has been left. I lingered for ahns, my shoulder pressed against the door, my palm placed against the grain of wood, before I was ready to pull away, and even then it took effort.

There is a longing within me, a longing wrapped in the ugly vestiges of guilt. It is constantly nipping at my heels, only horts away, no matter how fast I try to flee. And so, it is decided, that I will no longer run, instead, implementing another option.

I have decided to let it catch me.