Raven's Ramblings: Broken man

(The page is scattered with small, intricate drawings of flower's and people's faces, the doctor's cramped, loopy writing squished in around these doodles)
I am not exactly a man for these written nuances, but I thought it be wise to pour my thoughts and desires into a journal afore I do something foolish. Though I mourn ever so slightly that my sketchbook is becoming a journal and a sketchbook now, ah well, such is life.
Bree... has been stressful. It is nothing like Gondor. The only similarities I find are that people here play the low, back-stabbing gossip games like in Gondor. Tis petty and immature... Says me, the man barely in his adulthood. However, there are some people, who shall remain un-named, that deserve to be whacked upon the side of the head with a book... Or ten.
My brother brought my daughter, Inga, to Bree, and informed me of her mother's death. The tension is still between us, the wounds fresh for him... As Inga's mother is his wife. I do regret it, and I have apologized, but it would never fix the fact that she carried my child and not his. I cannot blame him.
I am a broken, un-satisfied man. Perhaps I am far too progressive and open minded for Bree. We cannot help nor change who we love or whom we desire or what pleasures us. Yet some people here seem far too concerned with who I share my bed with for their own good. I know I have a deep desire to be pushed around and dominated by other men, perhaps it is why I pick fights so often, knowing I will lose. I know I enjoy the pain more than I should... However...
I desire something more tender and intimate now, more emotional. Perhaps I am maturing more. That desire for carnal passion still burns within me, but the desire for something else and long lasting is burning hotter and hotter. Inga's appearance has spurred my desires for a family more and more. Perhaps' it is my desire to do better than my father and our painfully dysfunctional family of lies, deceit, gambling and murder.
There is... one woman who has caught my eye, however she is engaged to another man. I see the way she smiles at him... I wish it was me she smiled at that way, I wish it was me her face lit up for when I enter the rom, I wish it was me she has no fear to boldly embrace and kiss in the public eye. However, it is not me. Nor do I think it ever will be.
Her man however seems far too concerned with their reputation in the town's eye, forcing her to sit and heel not much unlike a hound. It fills me with some form of anger and rage that she is restricted as such in my eyes, she is not allowed to blossom and bloom to her full beauty and potential, and is instead pruned back. What is life without laughter and mirth? How I yearn to whisk her away and dance long into the night, or perhaps lay beside her in a meadow, whispering soft, tender words of love to her...
However, I cannot do this, so alas... She haunts me evermore in my dreams, tantalizing.