January 1st, 1889
I have passed through to many new years to regard them any longer with wonder or joy. I can see only a new cycle beginning - history repeats itself again and again and I have seen it happen and will no doubt see it again.
Nonetheless, I take to paper ever year and make a resolution to myself. History may repeat itself but that does not mean I must as well. I have stared death herself in the eye and refused to blink. I have seen myself in the mirror and failed to recognize the woman that looked back. I think sometimes some of me didn't come back from the other side of the veil.
The year after I nearly died I uprooted myself and began a new life, back in the castle that raised me. The year following I vowed not to be cowed by the children I had been charged with caring for. A year later I promised that I would be kind to them - to care for them means to care about them.
This year I will stop running. I have been running from myself all these years, ever since I kissed Maria in the broom shed by the pitch. I have loved women, truly, but I have never been able to stay with them, or that have not loved me in return. I am old now - I have lived nearly half of what I will ever live and I have no love left to show for it. I no longer care for my reputation, I find, if it means that I am condemned to a lonely life.
I write this but I do not trust myself, really. I may fall in love again but I will run as I always have, though I will try not to. This is who I am. What I am. I will try though. I promise myself that I will try.
-mp
wc 320
Nonetheless, I take to paper ever year and make a resolution to myself. History may repeat itself but that does not mean I must as well. I have stared death herself in the eye and refused to blink. I have seen myself in the mirror and failed to recognize the woman that looked back. I think sometimes some of me didn't come back from the other side of the veil.
The year after I nearly died I uprooted myself and began a new life, back in the castle that raised me. The year following I vowed not to be cowed by the children I had been charged with caring for. A year later I promised that I would be kind to them - to care for them means to care about them.
This year I will stop running. I have been running from myself all these years, ever since I kissed Maria in the broom shed by the pitch. I have loved women, truly, but I have never been able to stay with them, or that have not loved me in return. I am old now - I have lived nearly half of what I will ever live and I have no love left to show for it. I no longer care for my reputation, I find, if it means that I am condemned to a lonely life.
I write this but I do not trust myself, really. I may fall in love again but I will run as I always have, though I will try not to. This is who I am. What I am. I will try though. I promise myself that I will try.
-mp
she's tall, she's strict, and she looks like your lesbian aunt (because she is)