Diary
See disclaimer in Entry #1
:Serene:
The miracle of her understanding is something I couldn't have dared to hope for. Her words are the only possible balm for the raw ache of my broken heart. Her acceptance is the salvation that I don't deserve.
The others would try to guilt me into continuing my journey by pointing out the looming danger still hanging over all our heads, and I would feel the pain of their accusations of my selfishness, but it's all too distant to me now to really prod me into moving forward again.
It's move forward or backslide, too many believe. But I'm barely moving at all—just drifting, a victim of inertia. Some part of me wants to take that step, trying to get myself moving again, but the rest of me likes this disembodied feeling of apathy just fine. And so, here I stay.
Rose tells them for me that I still haven't moved past the shock and the depression yet, that I'm stuck for now but once the anger flares up I'll get going again. They don't feel like waiting. I don't feel like moving down the loss process just yet.
Their impatience stings me. They were there; they should understand.
They don't. She does.
I'm still not sure how she did it before, how she's still doing it—but miraculously, she has. She's so much stronger than I am, and it's her strength that has to help me now.
Ledah was everything to me, all through my life at Asgard. And now I've lost him, I've also lost my way, and the shreds of my purpose lie in ruins around my all-too-scarred soul.
But not so long ago, she lost her everything, too.
And she's still standing strong.
I've been spending more time with her lately, because she knows—she knows what it is I'm going through, she knows what real emotional pain is. She doesn't get impatient with me, and she can sympathize. I can talk to her, and she can talk to me.
She's my anchor, one of the firmest friends I've ever made.
So when she came to me and told me we had to go, I let her take my hands in hers and agreed.