Take it if you want it.

Burning in the solar plexus, heat behind the eyes, last time I looked in the mirror the wrinkles were looking back, I looked so tired. Forty-five minutes ago, mid-morning.

There is an emptiness inside, I can feel the gravity like a black hole pulling in solar detritus from nearby galaxies. I haven't slept well for a week and the tiredness is dragging me down, exposing the emptiness to harsh elements.

So many thoughts pulsing through my weary head, it makes it hard to think. Perhaps at this point action is better than forethought anyway.

I know what I need to do. I can feel it, every time I think about it I know it's the right decision. But I'm scared. Or maybe intimidated. Afraid, unsure, weak. I wake up and look at those wrinkles and think of the daylight that all of this indecision is burning and I tell myself to give a hard tug on my bootstraps. Pull yourself, up, out. Jump in because you know you can swim. Hell, you even know how to fly.

In April, if you care for me, be sure that I am enrolled in the academy. Actually, check on me March. Tell me "1939" and I'll remember.

And in the sea there swims another thought, or maybe it's just an emotion, and it sucks me up into its salty swirl and occasionally I am absorbed by the undertow. Sometimes I don't surface for hours. And it's a face, with a name, and a look and so much potency. And its my mind that, when I do resurface, imprisons me with the agony of what if and how and what does it all mean. And all I want is to go back, go back, go back, if just for one more small piece. One more something to cling to while I'm back here in the present.

There is an epic battle going on inside. I hope I win.