As I have said, I have kept true to my word. I find myself unable to part with you, my heart skipping a beat as I opened your leather cover, as it would when meeting a friend after a long while. Never would I have imagined such a weathered journal to elicit such emotion from me. Is it because I can vent whatever it is that’s troubling me? Or is it because your pages allow me to say what’s truly in my heart? I wonder.
I’m matter. hair of pie they though suppose word
that message, how indeed.
growing sentimental? have become wonder. emotion that seasons how how foolish will continue
Now, where was I?
Ah, that’s right.
The meeting.
intertwining of another the their most important. was strange encounter. see, the silly,
silly in particular, the had cut her the windowsill strange happened to her How did this girl river flowing tried the reaction, knocked neither chest, every name that foolish outburst away,
He laughed, and yet I can’t recall his face, nor his lips, nor his eyes, just his hair, that red hair that shone like the sky at sunset. How foolish that girl was and still continues to be.
Gods curse this memory of mine, for I can’t even recall what came prior to the pie those two borrowed…such a foolish thing memories are. They tease you with past events that you can never again have, how cruel they can be, remembering slight events that happened seasons ago at random intervals in your life, and yet forgetting crucial details that go along with them, how cruel indeed.
As I sit here in this tavern, the many voices bouncing off of each other, each one focusing on their partner, these many faces. I wonder if you’re among them, sitting idly by scribbling down in a journal of your own as you recall the tale of how you met that foolish girl all those seasons ago. Perhaps you are, or perhaps you’re not, there’s no way of knowing.
I wonder…Where are you now? Are you perhaps a Knight in some court? A body guard for a princess? Or maybe you’re leading a humble life, a simple fisherman in a village, or a ship builder in some city? Or perhaps, just maybe, a pirate in a far away land? I wonder, and I keep wondering, on and on like a bride left at her own alter, thinking of the possibilities that may have happened had her groom stayed. Forgive me, you red haired phantom that haunts my memories, and forgive me as well oh dear confidant, for it seems this foolish one continues to be foolish.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished matters that I need to put to rest, or else I fear this heart will continue to be as shaky and unstable like the ocean during a storm. Or perhaps it will continue to be this way after, I have no way of knowing and the only thing I can do is to keep wondering.
Oh how I keep wondering.
Yours,
Cydni Eloise Aizah