The Hour is Late
It is late here, midnight passing. December has come again, and for the past few months I have been enduring the same demonic nights that I experience every year at this time, as my spirit relives the hard pilgrimage that led to the night of December 26, 1985.
The feelings are so complex, the fears so deep and the love, too, so deep, that sometimes, even after all these years,the whole emotional avalanche of having the visitors emerge into my life threatens to drown me.
It was not all bad, not by any means, and that what makes my present condition so hard. I have lost loves, great loves, towering loves, left behind me a life and experiences that are somewhere close to the pinnacle what can happen to a living man.
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