Starting over
A new journal.
Shin-sin-fa has my old journal just now, and once he is done with it, I do not know what I will do with it. Do I keep it? Flip through it sometimes to relive my life? I've never had anything like it before, sitting there. Should I burn it? Drown it? Send it off to Harrick? Let it go in the stars?
This is like a while new life, a new beginning. Perhaps I should introduce myself. Hello, diary. I am Heut ist mein Tag, and I am your best friend and most bitter enemy. You will keep my secrets.
I am a bastard from a long line of bastards. My family does not marry, men or women. We pass on our name to our children, only two at most in a generation. Since I am a man, one day I will have a child and never see them past the day of their birth, unless the mother gives them to me. It is a system I do not like - if I loved someone enough to have a child with them, why would I not then want to raise a child with them? Who decided this rule? Why?
What would I have to teach a child? All that I know ends in death. Songs, fairy tales, legends, stories, they all end with blood and pain and death. I thrive in violence. I am a well oiled machine, headed for one purpose, destruction. I can cut as smoothly through a man as a woman, and never blink. Is this what I want to teach a daughter or a son? My way of life is not easy, but it is simple. Be true to those you love, know your heart, and when the time comes, as it always does, strike down those who would harm you and be sure they never rise to trouble you again.
Perhaps I am ready for a new life. Perhaps I am ready to be quicker to forgive, to find it easier to accept failings. To be less...honorable.
I know that the word is not in Mo'i'ro, but it seems praise to me. How can one have too much honor? Even should it cost me my life, is it a life worth living if I do not have that? What else will honor cost me? My love? Another limb? A child?
Can I hold to my ideals when it seems that even the universe is set against me?
How long can a poet's soul last? Jameus' words haunt me. I said that I was not a poet. Perhaps I am. I am not a killer. I do not wish to be. Do I wish to be a poet? A captain? A husband, a father, a baker, a lech?
Ah, this is not a new beginning, after all. I wonder, when this book is done, will you fill a space next to the first? A continuation of my life?
I do not know. That's the worst of it. I never do.
Tomorrow will be better. But Today is my Day.
Shin-sin-fa has my old journal just now, and once he is done with it, I do not know what I will do with it. Do I keep it? Flip through it sometimes to relive my life? I've never had anything like it before, sitting there. Should I burn it? Drown it? Send it off to Harrick? Let it go in the stars?
This is like a while new life, a new beginning. Perhaps I should introduce myself. Hello, diary. I am Heut ist mein Tag, and I am your best friend and most bitter enemy. You will keep my secrets.
I am a bastard from a long line of bastards. My family does not marry, men or women. We pass on our name to our children, only two at most in a generation. Since I am a man, one day I will have a child and never see them past the day of their birth, unless the mother gives them to me. It is a system I do not like - if I loved someone enough to have a child with them, why would I not then want to raise a child with them? Who decided this rule? Why?
What would I have to teach a child? All that I know ends in death. Songs, fairy tales, legends, stories, they all end with blood and pain and death. I thrive in violence. I am a well oiled machine, headed for one purpose, destruction. I can cut as smoothly through a man as a woman, and never blink. Is this what I want to teach a daughter or a son? My way of life is not easy, but it is simple. Be true to those you love, know your heart, and when the time comes, as it always does, strike down those who would harm you and be sure they never rise to trouble you again.
Perhaps I am ready for a new life. Perhaps I am ready to be quicker to forgive, to find it easier to accept failings. To be less...honorable.
I know that the word is not in Mo'i'ro, but it seems praise to me. How can one have too much honor? Even should it cost me my life, is it a life worth living if I do not have that? What else will honor cost me? My love? Another limb? A child?
Can I hold to my ideals when it seems that even the universe is set against me?
How long can a poet's soul last? Jameus' words haunt me. I said that I was not a poet. Perhaps I am. I am not a killer. I do not wish to be. Do I wish to be a poet? A captain? A husband, a father, a baker, a lech?
Ah, this is not a new beginning, after all. I wonder, when this book is done, will you fill a space next to the first? A continuation of my life?
I do not know. That's the worst of it. I never do.
Tomorrow will be better. But Today is my Day.