I'm going soft.
Soft like an old woman. Like an old, married woman. Like a sop-eyed maiden. Like a stupid, foolish, simpering lass.
I'm spending too much time lolling about in the sun, drinking in the scent of wildflowers, thinking about how beautiful the blue sky is. I'm sleeping too much. Sometimes in his bed, sometimes out in the woods. It's scaring me that both places are beginning to feel equally comfortable.
Am I afraid to just let myself be happy? What am I so bloody afraid of? What do I think will happen if I just throw myself headlong into it?
Something will go wrong. He'll leave. He'll die. He'll vanish. It's just the heady power of spring, that's all. He'll blink and realize what a bloody mess I am, and how he's wasted his time with me. It won't last. Winter always comes again.
I don't really believe that... do I?
I haven't seen him again. I daresay that helps things. I can put all those black memories back into the box and forget them again. I don't think about him. I won't think about him.
Of course, that doesn't stop his many sheep from fluttering around the village. I haven't seen the loud-mouthed one, the clever, sharp one. Nor the dark raven. Only the pale, bitter one. Something rankles her like a bur now. She seemed sad and forlorn when I first met her, but now she's just nasty and hateful all the time. There is no bitterness like a woman who isn't getting her way, and I've never understood that. If you're angry, then just be angry. I don't understand people who act nice one moment, then as soon as they aren't getting their way, they tumble and roll over and turn into something else entirely. That's falseness and I can't abide it. She asked, and I answered honestly. Now she wants to punish me, I guess, for my honesty? Don't ask if you don't want the truth. Why on earth would anyone expect me to like her? I haven't the least nudge towards liking a former bedmate of an old lover who nearly destroyed me. What, are we to sit around a tea table and swap memories of being in his bed?
What is wrong with people in this world? I leave her alone, as you would expect when you're indifferent to another soul. I guess indifference is too much to ask from someone with so much bile inside. If you aren't bosom friends, then they must treat you as an enemy. It's like being in a nursery, only one full of grown-ups.
After she flounced away (again...I've never seen someone so prone to storming out or flouncing off as she is), the rest of the evening was perfectly pleasant. Lovely Ivan on one side, sweet Nathan on the other, and the delightful Miss Bex to boot. I do like her! She is sweet and clever, and doesn't put on airs. I've always got a nod of respect for folk who are simply themselves.
I could scarcely get through one mug of ale before my eyes were ready to fall shut! It felt so nice and warm and belonging to stand there with Ivan and Nathan and Bex, just listening to them laugh and banter about with each other. Somehow I wound up leaned on Ivan's shoulder, without remembering how I got there. Then I was standing next to Bex and we were holding arms. I must have been half-asleep or half-drunk or both! I hope I didn't make her feel embarrassed. It seems Nathan has a dog I've not met, and Bex sings songs that I've not heard, so we all agreed not to be strangers and to find each other again soon.
Damn, bloody Ivan. Him and his damn, bloody, handsome face. I could punch it. His damn, bloody, kind hands. Turning me into mush. I should smash them with a hammer.
As if.
