One more name has been checked off the list within my head. I was able to tell him last evening, though in hindsight, I can hardly understand how I did so. He has a way of steering the conversation like an out-of-control wagon, taking twists and turns until I do not know how we got to where we are, or how to get back to where we began. Always, I feel that we are on the edge of some terrible catastrophe, some explosion of hurtful words that will be impossible to mend. Will a day ever come where we are not tiptoeing around each other, pushing and tugging with awkward, stilted clumsiness? Are we getting closer to a sweeter and kinder understanding, where we can simply speak our minds without fear or anger? It is a difficult question to ponder. Two souls, so deeply wounded, so full of grief and loss, are bound to be forced to traverse tumultuous waters, are they not?
I still wonder, more often than I care to admit, what the purpose of it all might be. Whether my continued existence is an empty, pale imitation of a life. I want to speak these things. I want him to understand. I want him to know that...even though he can be a coarse, ill-mannered brute, that the fault still lies with me. If I were not bound to cradle my grief like some fragile bit of crystal, lest it shatter and destroy me with it, I would say all the things I want to say. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to stand on a hilltop and just scream everything to the sky. But I don't. Even in solitude, I fear myself.
Still! It feels as though a step has been taken. Such warmth, such kindness, he has shown himself to be capable of. Every time, I long for it to last. But it is always a fleeting thing, a glimpse of the sunlight between passing clouds. Here and then gone again. Is he truly finding his own humanity? Or am I simply being my idealistic and naive self?
At least now he knows that I am leaving, and it has relieved a bit more of the burden. I promised that I would tell him before I go, and I must see Weda again, too. He said she is still waiting for me to help her with finding hair for her dolls. Bless her! I promised I would bring by some cornsilk, and I will keep that promise.
At Elfswith’s urging, I will relent and visit the farm before I set off on my journey. I think I build the dread within my mind moreso than it really needs to be. What do I fear? Their disapproving looks? The cluck of my mother’s tongue when she sees I am still stained with horse manure and remain unwed to someone of our own blood? My father’s cowed fondness, always suppressed, always fearful of his wife’s indignation? Yes, all of these things I fear. Of all that I have seen and suffered in this world, I still fear the weight of their disappointment.
It is a curious thing. I am blind to so many of the failings and vices of those around me. I want to see the good, the hopeful, the promising, in everyone I care for. Why do I not feel this way about the man and woman who gave me my own life? It seems the very opposite with them. That I expect their company to be a dour and tense thing, and that nothing will ever change for the better. But then, how could it? What could I ever do, to make them see me in a more favorable light? For it is me that brought them the discontent in the first place.
Do I feel hope that something might be better between myself and them? I sit here and examine my feelings to answer this question.
I will not call it hope, for hope is a thing of substance and evidence. Let us call it...a bit of optimism. Therefore, if it is proven false, it will not be a dashed hope, but merely a correction of wrong thinking.
How can it be that only a few weeks of summer remain? Already, the townsfolk begin to prepare for the start of the harvest. Summer is a deceptive lover, smoldering and intense right up to the very end. And suddenly you wake one morning to find the air cool and fresh, and the dampness gone, and you can feel the earth changing beneath your feet. Everything begins to fill with color, from the highest bough to the smallest flower blooming between the paving stones. Ah, but I must stop myself before I ramble on forever about my favorite season.
Now, I am reminded that it was last autumn that Gamferth and I set out from Bree. How can it be a whole year already! Dearest Gamferth. I never would have survived the journey without him. I don’t think I would have wanted to. But let me not dwell on such dark thoughts today. I must pay a visit to him soon. I would like to see him and his dear mother before I leave.
I must remember to unpack my cold-weather garments tonight. Odd to think that I may be wearing them before I return here, when right now, it is so hot I can scarcely breathe.
