3/2/1923
Another month. March. March is like an inbetween, a time between new life, and old death. It always rains in March, though. And I hate the rain. It makes the roads wet, slippery. It makes travel harder. Rain is probably my least favourite part of the year. It ruins things. I can't go outside, I'm stuck in the house. I have no escape from this world I've created.
That's just my dramatizations, though. Or so Jonathan says. He always says I'm just being dramatic, that I must actually be happy, on the inside. I don't think if I know the truth. I mean, I could? If I did, I don't know why I'd feel this way. Feelings are strange, in a way. And yet, my own feelings seem so..uncomplicated. Simple, in a way.
That's unimportant. My feelings are unimportant. I'm not supposed to feel them. At least not the way I do. I feel things wrong, everything. I don't think I've ever felt something right, even felt right. That's always been an afterthought, though. I have never been an important thought, even to myself. There is always a greater need, something else that needs to be done, someone that needed to be taken care of.
It is late when I write. Currently, it is the tenth hour of the night. It is the only time I have to myself, it seems. All of my other hours are filled with meetings, or being with people, or Thomas. It seems so..odd, to me. My hours are not my own. I do not have a time to myself, for I am always around people.
People are a bane, I must say. Some of them can be rude. A select few are..okay. Marietta, Elizabeth..Josephine.
Josephine, Josephine, Josephine. According to Elizabeth, she is all I ever talk about. I have never been one to doubt Elizabeth...but still, I talk about other things. I have to, if I continued to talk about Josephine one might think something was wrong with me. It is not like I miss her, no. Rather...it is something stronger. Being without her, it feels as though every fiber of my being is being torn apart. I have never felt strongly, I have never felt so strongly. It is like a wave, of feelings, of emotion. She makes me feel.
When I go back and read this, I believe I will realize how foolish I am. Before, I had said I could not feel. How I could not feel love, or emotion, or any of that. But upon thinking...I do feel love. I love Thomas, I love Marietta. I love nature, I feel love for the world around me.
I can love, I am capable of love.
And I know that I will look back on this and wonder what I was thinking. That I will look back and say that I was wrong, I was..crazy, that this just proves something is wrong with me. But even if this is temporary, even if this is false, I would rather have it than nothing at all. After all, as the poet says, it is better to have loved and lost to not have loved at all. I would rather know love. I know love.
I must show Josephine I love her. She makes me feel love, my thoughts of her remind me of love. Of warmth, of kindness, of being loved and feeling loved. If she makes me feel loved, then I must love her. That much is obvious.
I do not know how. I do not know if I can. But..I must try.
Goodnight.
I.A.C.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
