.
.
Slow and easy. My body is not able this day. My mind, however, is dealing with a few details. A recent dream, thoughts not long before that, and echoes form a slightly more distant past come together. Things I have only been able to bump shallowly due to being nearly comatose so often are now coming together. The story is being exposed to my eyes. And this I am passing on. A confession? No. Just a story, perhaps a warning should you know how to hear. Though if you have a piece of my nature, or are subject to it, the warning will most likely be lost to you. Still, it is better than sitting on the grenade. For me at least.
Yes, I see some of the nature of the thing more clearly through this lyrical apologue.
I see the the women I sought far more clearly in this storied music.
I do find sympathy, empathy if I had it to offer, through this narrative piece.
But too, I find some salvation in this romantic strain.
Who said it was easy, or made sense. Who said sins, no matter how seemingly correct, or lauded, or even supported, could be washed away before their due, or forgotten even if so? All of my instincts are to hunt the huntress. Is it for justice? Was it to offer her a secular form of contrition? Was it just because I was a wolf, as was she, a nature of the beast reality? I don't have answers. Hope, a handful of that, with more where it came from now. Faith too, in doses large enough to kill. And, I think, finally, love. Yet I will always be what I am. Questions, many. Action may provide the answers... or render questions too expensive to ask. If I can just act.
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