The Ghost of You
Seven.
Seven.
Reborn from the ashes of an epiphany. Three months after he salvaged the pitiful remains of my questionable sanity, Michael was killed in the line of duty. Blown up by a masqueraded explosive, the passionate rogue who finally broke my torment was gone. Burned out like the star I knew he was, leaving a black hole where his intoxicating presence once scorched and illuminated. Yet this time I didn’t cling to the pain like I did with the loss of my wife. Surrounding myself with grief following her death was the only way I knew how to keep her alive in my thoughts. But she was still there, the memories of her enchanting smile and the inferno in my heart evoked from the mere mention of her name always keeping her with me. The death of Michael too was a bitter pill to swallow, but his wise words rang true. I had to live on not only in his memory and for the salvation of the concepts he treasured, but in the hope that one day I may be some other poor soul’s Michael. Maybe I wouldn’t be, but perhaps I could be the antagonist to another’s misery.
Not quite positive outlook, consider it cloudy realism. Whatever I was living in wasn’t Eden, but I’d clambered staggeringly out of Limbo, and that was enough. I was a pawn of war, soaked in honour and stiff in uniform. Thousands of lives lay in my hands- their choices, their dignity, their freedoms- and for now, that was the task at hand. Day by day is how to live. Tackling the first obstacle to solemnly enjoy the gratification and silent satisfaction it brought before being posed with another one. That was how to live, not in the bigger picture but through steady progression through the frames. Fight with warm blood and take the hits you need to in order to survive. Accept your failures and troubles and reward yourself with rejuvenation and those small moments that make you sit back and enjoy the scenery. That’s how Michael would have lived, that’s how I should have been living, that’s what I strive for now.
Maybe I wouldn’t survive this war, but I sure as hell’s fires wasn’t going to be my own destruction. If I died, fate would take me. No longer was I living in the hazy ideals of my own martyrdom but in the justice of circumstance. Keep your hopes down low and your head up high. I wasn’t giving up my life without giving it a fighting chance. Time to get serious, mortality was not a game,
Reborn from the ashes of an epiphany. Three months after he salvaged the pitiful remains of my questionable sanity, Michael was killed in the line of duty. Blown up by a masqueraded explosive, the passionate rogue who finally broke my torment was gone. Burned out like the star I knew he was, leaving a black hole where his intoxicating presence once scorched and illuminated. Yet this time I didn’t cling to the pain like I did with the loss of my wife. Surrounding myself with grief following her death was the only way I knew how to keep her alive in my thoughts. But she was still there, the memories of her enchanting smile and the inferno in my heart evoked from the mere mention of her name always keeping her with me. The death of Michael too was a bitter pill to swallow, but his wise words rang true. I had to live on not only in his memory and for the salvation of the concepts he treasured, but in the hope that one day I may be some other poor soul’s Michael. Maybe I wouldn’t be, but perhaps I could be the antagonist to another’s misery.
Not quite positive outlook, consider it cloudy realism. Whatever I was living in wasn’t Eden, but I’d clambered staggeringly out of Limbo, and that was enough. I was a pawn of war, soaked in honour and stiff in uniform. Thousands of lives lay in my hands- their choices, their dignity, their freedoms- and for now, that was the task at hand. Day by day is how to live. Tackling the first obstacle to solemnly enjoy the gratification and silent satisfaction it brought before being posed with another one. That was how to live, not in the bigger picture but through steady progression through the frames. Fight with warm blood and take the hits you need to in order to survive. Accept your failures and troubles and reward yourself with rejuvenation and those small moments that make you sit back and enjoy the scenery. That’s how Michael would have lived, that’s how I should have been living, that’s what I strive for now.
Maybe I wouldn’t survive this war, but I sure as hell’s fires wasn’t going to be my own destruction. If I died, fate would take me. No longer was I living in the hazy ideals of my own martyrdom but in the justice of circumstance. Keep your hopes down low and your head up high. I wasn’t giving up my life without giving it a fighting chance. Time to get serious, mortality was not a game,