I am regretting that night tonight after some wine and coke more than I have ever regretted it; and I have been around for centuries. Three hundred years I’ve been roaming. Wandering aimlessly has turned into more of a burden than an adventure. Yes it’s cold, but my heart still aches as if the blood was pumping through it.
“I have no choice. It’s my job.” Those words forever resonate despite the scenery or the poison I inject.
He was able to love again. He even started a family. Through the grapevine 30 or so years ago I heard she even bore him four children. That’s something I never could have done for him. I’m sure he made a wonderful father.
I keep a careful distance from our past, because the nostalgia is suffocating. Although I am too empty to keep living these pseudo lives as pseudo people, I am too cowardly to die. Hell won’t be any more fun than this place, and I am not ready to face my demons; however, when I can’t bear the memories any longer, there’s still one selfish ounce of me that hopes he’s there in Hell waiting for me like I walk the earth waiting for him.
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