Two Months On.

I think it has taken this long for the seriousness of all this to dawn on me. People often comment that I look younger than I am and I do. There is something about my smooth skin and slouching pose and delicate hands that flutter like moths, that does not betray my nearly three decades. But inside I am older, the smoke of half my life churning through blood vessels, choking vitality and coating my thoughts with dusty shadows. I can't hide my inside from the outside for very much longer, so I will have to repair it. Clean it out, air it, give it a new coat of paint, flesh out the half-life to give it substance that other people can see.

I can no longer carry on pretending that this is not going on, therefore I have to change direction, cough up the last battle. Two months on and I feel as though nothing has changed and yet everything has changed. I am still swallowing misery and hiding in the anonymity of the citadels of chaos. I am too stubborn and decitful to make amends. I am too enthralled by the glow of the city lights to admit that eventually they will blind me. In the cold, hungry alleyways, the way of the ruined is hale.

This, I feel is my last chance, my last shot, my last hope. This is life itself, not the dress-rehearsal. This is my journey, not the night before. This is today and nothing else.

Two months on and have made a resolution to at least try to put all the fragments of broken glass back together so that my world can again hold something. Two months on and I have realised just what awesome responsibility I have been entrusted with. Two months on and I take one step forward.