Entry 12

Death. A most preposterous irrationality of life.

It is harkened to with the greatest pomp and ceremony, yet remains a sullen reminder of man’s irrelevancy – his towering insignificance, if you will. Death is celebrated as the holder of the key to mortal being, and maligned as the harbinger of suffering. Is there no greater lunacy, then, than that beheld by the man that fights death with his very life? The zest of living lies within its evanescence; such that it is man’s greatest wish that he should perish one day, whether or not he is aware of this. We are worldy, and we are defined by our finite grace. We have no place in eternity. And it is of further irony that those who survive are those that make death meaningful, for death is grand in the wakeful hour of man. But we do not attend our own funerals. We do not hear the solemn prose spoken to our honor, and we do not see the earth broken to receive us.

Do we, Davish.

My soul be damned, for having the fortitude to ponder the death of a close friend with such flatness. Does death impress upon me no longer? For all the ghostly intuition that haunts me, I fear most strongly that I trouble most greatly for matters of the mind. What anger and remorse I felt for his passing does not eclipse the numbness that has settled over me. I seem as ignorant as ever I have been, wondering as I always have if I could ever hope to align with normalcy of the heart. Now I must stand before my court of conscience, and answer for the the criminally subdued state in which I received the death of my ally. And now my anger builds anew, and resentment poisons my blood. I look to the witch, I look to the elf. But in the end, I see only a pitiful wood hermit, led at the hand through life by some restless spirit. The welling and ebbing of feeling inside me lends not to the severity of emotional investment, but rather its trivial and inconsequential nature. It is a thankless endeavor and a grievous complication, to feel. To wish it away would be a freedom most welcomed back into my heart. Yet…

Bloody hell, for all my brooding woes, I still have a shred of dignity left so that I may recognize my own dismal melodrama. Tonight I shall soothe my troubles in a manner more befitting a bloodied warrior. A toast to all the universe, ye are assuredly a miserable bitch!

Entry 12

Mindosia CursedLemon