bitter aftertaste.

I wake today, well slept and rest, but strangely I feel somewhat bitter. Why?
Bitterness, at the accusation hurled.
Bitterness at the turn of events.
Bitterness, at the implied requests, expected after so long.
Bitterness, at the contamination of memories, the befouling of the nice
Bitterness, at the loss of respect, and the permanence of contempt

As realisation dawn, i conclude: Good riddance. The bitterness is like the taste of the ashes, of whats left of the whole affair. Insignificant as dust, but a bitter reminder of what once was.
All I can do, is wait for the ashes to fly, to be sent off to the far corners of my mind, by the winds of time. One thing good about ashes, is that it returns to the land what it took to build it. Perhaps this bitterness I taste is the herald of new things. Perhaps this pile of ash will nourish the growth of a new plant. Perhaps.

I have fallen in love with the dance. The music just never leave me now, and I lay sleepless at night, thinking of the moves, thinking of the rhythms. Obsessed, yes. But passion does not make up for practice or eptitude. I lack the time allowed to plough through the dance, nor the quick mind of the naturally gift. A mediocore I would remain, though a mediocore I loathe to be. Part of life's gristles i suppose, one of the many viccissitudes that may behalf all.

Stress. I feel her fingers slowly closing over my neck, clenching gently yet inexorably. I am choking! Choked by stress, yet hapless about it. How long before my body will react to it? How long before my hands can find the strength to pull her hands away? Procrastination weakens my resolve, poison coursing through my veins. So much to do and learn, so little time! And all the time, my mind is weakened by indecision. WOE.

I have fallen yet again. Madly, surely, definitely. But the poison of passion is still not fatal; my mind is still largely in control. My objectivity still rules, although the subjective part rages and howl for control. That unthinking beast remains caged up in reason and caution, but how long can that cage withstand the continual onslaught? I feel my resolve slipping away, as logic and reason gives way to impulse. And all these while, i neglected His presence. I plea for His intervention, I plea for His help, yet never had i asked for His opinion. Perhaps now is the time. Now is the time to quieten down both voices, and listen to Him. The Counselor listens unconditionally, but the Master commands attention. So it shall be, once again.