#ta4

Summer, 1865 Dear Diary,

The rain finally broke. After a week of thunder, today was warm and Sunny! I've taken to exploring the land when the weather allows. It's all wildflowers and tall grass here, some of it reminds me of the wheat fields we used to hide in as children. I know we’ll need to clear a space soon if we want a garden worth eating from, but for now, I like it just as it is.

I asked Cal to take a walk with me, but he insisted it was too hot. I gave him my best pout, and though he tried to play stern, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, We compromised on a ride instead. Perhaps that was better anyway. The warm wind tangled in our hair, some conversation in and out of the breeze, and for a time, it felt like we were just sweethearts again. Not a pair of weary hearts trying to remember how to beat in rhythm.

It was a lovely ride. Truly.

But then as it so often does, my mind began to wander. What if I'm letting myself believe a beautiful lie. Could we be happy here? Entirely, honestly happy?

Maybe we are. Maybe I’ve simply gotten better at pretending.

I don’t know. There are moments of happiness and then there are the others. The way his eyes drift past me, like he’s listening for something only he can hear. I keep telling myself I’m imagining things. That it’s just the effects of his injuries or the strain of another long move.

He calls it the Itch, this pull that takes him from me. As if it’s something in his bones, restless, nameless, and hungrier than I can ever be. I keep reminding myself how the war damaged him, how he just needs more time to heal. But doubt has a way of curling up behind the ribs and making a home of itself.

We don’t speak of it, not really. We try, but trying turns to shouting and shouting turns to silence, and I don’t have the strength to climb out of that hole again. We’ve moved too many times already. I don’t want another beginning. I want a middle, and a end.

It bruises me to write it, but it's the truth. If not for Daddy's money, we wouldn’t have made it this far. And that’s a hard thing to swallow when you believe you're supposed to be in love and leading your own life, not scraping by on someone else's.

I lie awake and wonder if what he's chasing isn't a place, or dream but freedom. From me. And if that’s true… I don’t know how to keep him. Or if I should even try.

The page has several dark spots where the ink has pooled. She’s paused. A breath held too long.

This wasn’t supposed to be a sad entry. He laughed this morning. Tomorrow, I will try again.

With hope, Louisa

Coolest?

"I’ve never been a fan of sports or anything remotely athletic not by any sense or means. The only physical activity I’ve ever actually enjoyed was horse riding, and that’s always been different. Peaceful. Grounding. It never felt like exercise, more like therapy.

But on my fifth day here, something in me wanted to change. Maybe it’s the silence, or maybe it’s the way the mountains look when the sun rises, but I decided to start jogging every morning. Just me, the sound of my footsteps, and the chill of the air brushing against my skin.

And honestly, it’s helped. The morning breeze clears my head in a way nothing else does. It’s like every breath reminds me that I’m still here , still moving, still capable of starting over, even if it’s just one small step at a time"

Fave Hairs - Aleister