Time and tide...
John Crichton used to keep a journal, I'd see him study it when he needed the comfort of home. As he got more used to us, to Moya, he needed it less and less.
I suspect his need is different from my own.
He always had the hope of making it home, whereas I know I will never get there. Delvia is like the round table of King Arthur: unattainably something lost forever.
Still, I have my garden and the Sanctity root. I have this small town, and strangely enough, I have John and Aeryn again. Though this pair do not know me. And I have Chiana, I wonder if she still would steal from a priest. And Stark... I'm never certain what to do with Stark. He simply is, as I am.
Where once that would have been enough... But perhaps I'm simply being overly philosophical. Aeryn would have told me to leave behind my solitude for reality.
Perhaps I shall.
I suspect his need is different from my own.
He always had the hope of making it home, whereas I know I will never get there. Delvia is like the round table of King Arthur: unattainably something lost forever.
Still, I have my garden and the Sanctity root. I have this small town, and strangely enough, I have John and Aeryn again. Though this pair do not know me. And I have Chiana, I wonder if she still would steal from a priest. And Stark... I'm never certain what to do with Stark. He simply is, as I am.
Where once that would have been enough... But perhaps I'm simply being overly philosophical. Aeryn would have told me to leave behind my solitude for reality.
Perhaps I shall.