Found:
It was late in the morning when we awoke. For the first time that I can recall, I didn't get straight out of bed but stayed there instead. It was warm, comfortable and, in truth, I was happy. I didn't want to leave his side. I wanted to remain in that moment; that moment between sleep and activity, that moment when all that mattered were the sound of his breaths and his heart beating loudly beneath my ear. I wanted to stay, to revel in the sensation of just lying in the arms of the one I love could love.
I don't recall a time that I ever wanted to do that with anyone. Gone before first light. That was always my way. It was easier then. None of these messy feelings. None of this uncertainty or the fear of what I must surely know will come.
I'm in too deep.
I have to get out.
He departed almost as soon as he dressed. He needed to speak to Woad. I didn't ask about what; that's between them. I just know that when he was gone, I was hit again by the hopelessness of it all. The joys of what we had done, and what we refused to do, the night before were swept away by a tide of dread.
I left the house. I couldn't stay. I needed a distraction. So, I went to town where I found Dernwynn, or rather she found me.
It's been a while since last I set foot in that tavern, but in we went. Over wine, we spoke of her troubles, of mine. I had hoped to leave mine behind for a while, but my dear friend wished instead to focus upon them. To help, to advise. She doesn't know everything, of course. I've told her only bits and pieces, but it was enough.
"Do you love him?"
"Remember that you deserve happiness too."
"Just because you are used to being alone, doesn't mean you have to be."
"You're handing him to her on a silver platter."
"If you believe him worth it, claim him."
The man is not a piece of furniture. I don't have a deed for his heart, nor can I buy a spare in a local shop should it break. He belongs entirely to himself until such a time as he chooses otherwise.
I wish that I could still say the same about myself.
Dernwynn is a jealous woman and far more possessive than I. Of course, that's not a high bar to jump. Nevertheless, the differences in our philosophies do not make her wrong. Not about everything. More time won't help. I do deserve to be happy. I am allowing him to make me weak. And the more I let this go on, the more it will hurt.
Cracks form already. Hairline fractures in something so carefully pieced together.
This isn't a matter for the head, but for the heart, and my heart breaks anew every time I see what this is doing to him. Every time I acknowledge what it's doing to me. I shatter daily, though I don't allow him to see it. I pick myself up, I put myself back together, ready for the next blow. I die inside a little each time. An endless cycle of self-destruction. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe the next one will be the one that ends it, that returns me to the cold and callous Silver of old. The one who can't care. The one who doesn't know how.
It would be far more simple to be her again. It would hurt less. It would confuse me less. But is that what I really want? To be alone, always alone, even when I am with others? Do I want to lie in the bed of one faceless man after another, fooling myself into believing that I am content? Do I want to bury myself in work, forcing myself to believe that these dusty tomes and tarnished trinkets could ever be enough?
No.
But all the spit and glue in the world won't keep me in one piece if I go on like this.
