I never pondered the forming of one's diary. Often as a child I saw my fair mother writing one, I always dismissed it, now I wonder why? Why did I not think to keep one? I think it not that I thought it weak or such. I just simpley did not. Perhaps this was most silly of me, folk often tell me how much better they feel once they have written the happens and goings on in their lives, scribing the ponderings and thoughts of their own mind and emotions. Tis a strange thing really. I long for home, more so than ever now I have a wifeman, one whom has forever been a grand stulwart post I often find myself leaning upon. Joy. Her namesake means so much to the hearts and wants of people, for I it is clear to see she does not take this lightly. Forever she bares a gentle smile, her eyes dark almost as lumps of coal but they are from from this, they are warm and soft to the gaze and hint of curiousity is always to be seen twinkling in the depths of her eye and mind. Her hair is long and dark, like my mothers, a dark sheen of waving brilliance I thought when that day we stood upon the banks of the River by Greenway. That day, my dearest Joy, you told me of your love for me and I you. Tis a day that shan't be forgotten in the coming years of our marrage.
I long for home, more so now that master Gothidox is nearing his death. A pang of guilt and sadness has forever been upon my heart which has made it heavy for almost all my life. Guilt not for some wrong I have done, but that he has none but I left in his life. A sadness for a great loss, not just to I and my kin, but to many of those who know him who have now left hereabouts for far off lands. I should have a pyre for my beloved friend, a tall one to resemble the greatest and brillance of the Edain of old. He would prefer. Alrewulf and Erinwyn would like to be there, but they are not within reach and I have often found myself placing yet more letters into the box. But here I am writing as though he was gone, he is not. Not yet. I long for home, more so now than ever before. I have been here for a good many years now, often I traveled homeward over the Hitheaglir through the Vales and beyond. I found myself crying the other night, Joy did not wake. A soft sobing as tears fell from eye to cheek to floor. "We are not meant for such travels and far off realms, my son" My father used to say, along with many other folks of my tribe said. Somthing I hear often the curious Hobbits saying of their own kind. Damn my own adventurous nature, my own curiousity, my own wants to see other lands peoples and kins.
I long for home, more so now that I realise that without leaving it's fair and wide plains I would not have done so many, many things. Met so many, many people. Found my wifeman. I do not think I shall continue a diary. I am far from fond of it.
