AN:I wrote these for school and thought I'd post them....
Journal Entry for Ms. Eliza Bennet
I cannot think but to see his face. Oh, gods, what is to become of this? Nothing. I must face that, I know. But I cannot! What is wrong with me?? Lydia, I can see obsessing over unrequited love, Kitty too.
But me? I am not; I can not be that type of woman. This is madness. I cannot forgive or forget what I have said to him, oh, but what! When his thoughts on my family were completely legitimate! Harsh, yes. Proud, yes. But utterly undeniable. And he has saved us. That family which he so utterly scorns, enough so to move his friend out of our sights as to avoid contamination, he saved.
Why? I cannot help but ask myself, though the pondering is sure to bring on a fresh wave of agony. Why on earth would a man such as Mr. Darcy spend ever so much money on a girl he truly detests such as Lydia? He surely gave a fortune to Wickham. Why? Not only spending such money on a female he abhors, but giving that money over to a man he detests even more.
I, in such a love struck state that I am in, cannot help but hope. It is heresy to even imagine, but even as I try to force the thought out of my mind, the it creeps in that he might have performed this heroic act of charity…….for me.
Gods, I cry to even write it. I know it cannot be, I must not let myself to be snatched into such falsehoods, but as I am, I cannot deny them from entering my brain.
I wish there was some way to show him my gratitude, and my love. Tis a true blight that women cannot truly express their affection through courtship and gifts and proposals the way the opposite sex can.
But I laugh to think of myself proposing to Mr. Darcy. I laugh even harder to think of Lady Catherine's reaction to such news. As I am thoroughly infatuated with every hair on his head, I rather think that my proposal would become less like, say, Mr. Bingley's, all sweet and shy and romantic and more along the lines of Mr. Collins's proposal! Oh how I laugh.
It is good to laugh. A love-plagued heart does not have much to laugh about. I cannot express with mere words, expressions or gestures the shame and remorse I feel towards every sentence I have spoken to him. But I know that if I think of it much longer, I will get no sleep. The sooner I blow out the candle, the sooner I can toss and turn for hours. Then the sooner I can become exhausted from emotion and slip into sleep. And how I do love sleep.
For when I sleep, I am at peace, I laugh, and Mr. Darcy loves me.
I do count the days until Jane returns. I am becoming an abomination in love. If I cannot achieve happiness through love of my own, I can at least live vicariously through hers.
Elizabeth Bennet, January 5th
AN: Next one up is Mary.......I know it's a tad over-dramatic, but I'm rather fond of this....
