Uncle Mark

I got back from Europe today. I felt at home, and I do not like being back here. The one thing I had to look forward to has been taken from me, problem is I am my own enemy in this case. I went through with it, I guess it was Saturday the 27th. My defense is I didn't fuck her, but what does that really matter?

While in Florence, I did my gift shopping, and I bought her a beautiful calf-skin wallet, and had her initials guilded on in twenty-four karat gold. It doesn't matter though; a demon is a demon, a saint a saint. But I am neither, I'm just Stefan. Martyrs get nothing accomplished, but I never thought of myself as one to jew out of paying my commuppence. None of this mattered this evening, when I was pretty beat up as a result of my own impius, my inability to control myself, and one less "demonic" than myself. I needed something, and for something, I ran to Uncle Mark.

As we watched the History Channel, Uncle Mark made me realize that the dusk can be at its worst, at its darkest, but the dawn will always rise again, bright and new and full of promise.

So that's where I am now, in the gray before the dawn, wondering whether Aurora will shine on my face, or leave me out in the cold rain where I have taken up residence.

All I know for sure is that I did the perfect opposite of what I always intended to do, and even did for a while there. But

One will never win the fight against his biology, but I did think that I'd be able to last more than three rounds.