Just in the nick of callous deadlines, a delinquent penalty would have equaled yet another unwritten year. Although, within what words would one of this stature deserve? Details graciously spared from audience, as lack of clemency was upon me. All evidence would have suggested, or even foreshadowed it; mindfully forgetting any given time in which I had ever claimed ownership. It was merely the most basic of promises, simply just be there; by heavens split, I surely was. Still and all, never would I deny the intimate right to faithfully soul search. Although strut lightly thereupon my dearness, as one may be surprised of what they might find.

All just thoughts, midst an exorbitant time of masterful gathering. I suppose a fair method of figuring things out. Inconspicuously amongst many, there is still one that eludes me. It is the validity of our own discreet and private indulgence, that I brave to question. Theories widespread, but what exactly governs them? I always liked to think it was something more than just a self-serving Darwinian instinct. Yet the frailty of being human will heedlessly do what it does, barren of any constraint or consideration. Then again, these observations come from a man living beneath the shadows of a fictitious devotion. Exhaling life and honor unto his personal Sistine; proudly painting homage to the one and only one, whom never strayed. 

Have I become detached in this? Some paradoxical faulty life-way, proportionate to that of a godless priest; unfastened from biologies that spawned our very existence? With zero capacity to judge or even pardon, I unavailingly search for any ulterior. An incessant mission, furnished in scrupulous vows designed to render all else buoyant; self excluded. Is it altruistic or anarchic? One could never be too sure. Any glint of vacancy dims on reasonable thought when it comes to my Achilles heel; the tender spot in which a youthful heart once beat. 

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