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I had dreamed of attending the Ball, but I tripped, over the black and blue body of a young woman, fell on my face and was left there, covered in her blood, slipping as I tried to stand up again.



Staring, at my hands, at her form, in horror, in shock.



I waited, for her to move, for some sign of life, that it could not be true. But alas, I stood and waited, until it was too late- the last few rivulets of her sweet life drained away, her light faded.



And why? I asked my self why?



How did it come to this, where I am left stood here, alone and disbelieving of such a stomach wrenching ache?



I must have slipped, must have erred, to have caused this tragedy, this sin, so mortal. But I did not see, nor hear myself perform this act of brutality. I was asleep, ashamed, hiding from the beast that snarled for her, needed to have her.



And now, without even that beast, I am alone, without her.



Sorrowful eyes of mine, they weep for the memory of the love I had, torn apart by my own hands, but not of my own mind. Out of this place, my mind was lost, hurt and angry, so it returned bitter and vengeful.



I am still alone.



I breath out her name and it is left hanging in the cold night air, unanswered, unheard as a whisper. But I heard it and I decry it's very thought, for it brought me anguish, as much as it brought me joy.



If only there was another way back, a path not walked, but never can we turn around and walk the same path twice, never able to say those words of contrition.



Lonely, that is what I am.



And today, the memory is scarred, but healing in it's own way, leaving it's indelible impression upon my psyche, my soul. Never to be forgotten, this wonderous time we had, but time draws onward, dragging my eyes with it.



Tomorrow, I will awaken and the day will be fresh, bright and clean, my woes washed in the morning rain, the wind a howling rucus of good company, so I let go of this pain, of this memory which failed me.



And lonely I remain.