July 25th
The hottest fire burns blue. Is that why I feel the heat of your blue eyes carried to me every night? I sleep with the back doors open. I let the scent of lilacs slowly drive me crazy. The fragrant breeze tightens my skin with want. I want your lines and curves. Your perfectly sharp jaw. I lay above the sheets. I only want to be covered by you.
Then why am I ignoring your owls when I thought your boldness had made me brave?
No longer are you in another room with another lover, impossible to me. Am I so scared of my wants being realized? Running from you is like running from a part of myself, for you are inside me. My love is no longer held between forbidden glances or hidden from me in a gallery. Every second you are here.
July 28th
I have half painted canvases staring at me from every angle. I have pictures of Ron and me in a box I refuse to unpack. What have I done? I gave up my studies. I gave up a love. Not mine, but Ron's love was a love none-the-less.
I fear that I've done it all wrong, that I've held on to all my wounds. Like how I kept you with me, your face at shell cottage. I'm not sure if I know how to let go. What a fool to think I've healed.
I think I paint my wounds because I don't know how to live without them. My dearest Fleur, my biggest fear is that I will never know how to live without an enemy. My other is that I will get you and then lose you. How come with all we've gained, all I know is how to live in the loss?