This Time Imperfect

This is a songfic, but rather than post the lyrics and then write a paragraph, as is typical, I've incorporated them into the story. It's in first person, which I don't think I've ever written in before. I'm not used to it at all, so forgive me if it comes across strangely.

Also, I'm going with the pulmonary tuberculosis theory, even though it is argued Chopin may have died from cystic fibrosis.

ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ

.

I cannot leave this world, but I cannot stay. Rather than fearing my death, I am haunted by its impending arrival. I think of Emilia, Ludwika, Delfina, all my friends and students I've left, or will leave behind. I think of Poland. I had longed to return to Warsaw someday, but it can never be. I cannot get back home. Though nothing waits for me there except death.

I'm angered by how unfair it all is. I've spent my whole life a sickly and useless sponge, sapping life and energy from those around me. I've been a burden. Never had I been truly healthy, and now I will die. The past few years had been especially hellish. I have been plagued with fevers and fatigue. My chest feels like it is on fire and blood speckles my handkerchief when I cough.

Sometimes, in this dream world, I get so caught up in my emotions I start to choke. The tuberculosis that ravages me in reality has destroyed my lungs. It is a painful battle to breathe, a war that is doomed. I forget where I am at night and wake from nightmares gasping for breath.

Polka has seen me on such occasions, especially early in our travels when it was but the two of us in the forest. I asphyxiated on any words I would say. I had not even the strength to muster a smile or any reassurance I was alright. She understood and said nothing. She gently took my hand and we stayed in silence until the fit passed and we could both return to sleep.

This world… I cannot stay here, but I cannot leave.

Everyone, everything is farce, make believe. Who would have thought my memories for my departed Emilia would manifest themselves into so many wonderful caves with brilliant colored stones, sunlight blessed forests and meadows, and mysterious beasts. Those people…

There is realness, beautiful depth to all of them, even though they are false images. Jazz, Allegretto, Viola, Crescendo, those children… Polka. I myself, as I appear, am also a deception. While even in this dream I am dying, I appear physically well. I am able to run, swim, and fight for extended periods without succumbing to sickness. I can breathe freely and clearly in the clean air. Such a blessing, if only to breathe. Something I had taken for granted.

I do not want to leave this world. I want desperately for someone to appear and make me, make this place, reality.

But I know…

This charming land, much like those flowers with their beautiful and deadly light, this place guides me surely to death. There will be no more after this…

There will no flowers, not this time. No angels will come to grace to comfort me from this stark destiny. I have to make the decision on my own. I told them it would be my final journey. At the end, I will have to face death. A choice awaits as well.

I will discover which is real, what I can make real to me. Somehow, I will know without any doubt in my mind when the time has come.

.

ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ ͼΩͽ

"This Time Imperfect" by AFI

I had planned on doing a hand drawn music video to this, but that's waaaay too much work. XD