My dearest diary,
those are dark times, and in those dark times I turn to your for comfort.
Gwenewith, my dear friend, has fallen sick, and it is uncertain if she will ever recover. For Francesca I try to seem hopeful, but the truth is that I am scared. I am so scared that I can't find the words for it and even while writing I can only portray a shadow of what I truly feel. Just to think that my last conversation, my last moments with her might already be spent is such a horrifying idea that it shakes me to the bone, and I have taken to crying at the most unusual times.
I am crying right now.
Still I can't stop writing, can't stop to dry my tears, because there is a secret, held in for longer than I can remember. Even writing it seems sinful, but not writing it, leaving it to exist only in my mind, would destroy my self, of that I am certain.
I must start at the beginning, or at least some years ago. For a long time I have read tales of men and women loving each other and could never understand them. The feelings described to me always seemed fictional to me. As I reached the age where the other girls started to look at boys I found that the feelings in the books were real and normal. It was only me who didn't feel them.
So I came to believe that I wasn't capable of love. Long this feeling hurt me, for love was always described as such a beautiful thing, but by 16 I had gotten used to it. My mother had told me that many people don't get married for love, that I could still have a family if I wanted, and that I could love my husband as a friend, if that made me happy. So I was happy, until one night a ball was held.
I don't remember the occasion, I don't remember the time. All I remember is that I had gotten drunk and fallen while dancing, and a noble women bent down to help me up. To me she looked like something send from heaven, and like that my heart broke. In a heartbeat I had felt all the things books had told me about, friends had described me and I had longed for. And in the same heartbeat I knew that this was the closest I could ever get to love.
Over years this situation repeated and repeated, breaking my hart apart again and again. Queens and Maids alike broke my heart by proving to me how easy it is for me to love and how impossible it is to be loved back. I had accepted that fate, was now more committed to join a nunnery than ever, until I took up position in the princesses court.
I don't know when it happened, or how it happened, but something in the way she looked at me, talked to me, touched me made me believe again. I fell in love, looking for signs to extinguish the flame but only found signs to keep it going. I finally believed that there could be love for me. And if there was love for me, it would be her.
Now I have shared my deepest, darkest secret. The truth because of which I am certain to one day reach a well deserved fate in hell, that I know I can not escape. And I can not be happy, not in life and not in death, for I have touched love with out ever being allowed to hold it. And now it might be ripped from my sight completely, and should that happen I am certain I might not survive it.
So goodbye. Goodbye beautiful world, dear friends, beloved mother. I loved you in all the ways I could, forgive me for the ways I couldn't and don't resent me, I beg you, for I already resent my self.