May 9, 2002
What is Love?
I retired to my bed last night at 3:34 a.m., sniffling. Let me just say that Juliet Marillier will forever be a genius in my eyes. I finished Child of the Prophecy after about six straight hours of reading. It was so good. I was bawling so badly near the end that I could hardly read for the words blurring on the page.
Why, why, must I be an incurable sissy girl?
Why, why, must there be books that are so good they make my heart ache? Make my own simple creations seemed impossibly flawed?
I was overjoyed that Bran and Liadan were present, and still quietly and desperately in love with eachother. She painted the perfect picture of the two, seen through the eyes of Fainne who is not sure she believes in love at all, and I don't care if you read this or no but I must place it in here as a sad tribute to my poor, wearied mind:
Through the doorway I could see my Aunt Liadan, and a man who must be the Chief, for they were standing completely still with their arms wrapped around each other and their eyes closed, like young folk who had just discovered love for the first time. His hands were buried in the dark silken fall of her hair, which had escaped its neat bindings and flowed loose down her back. Her brow rested in the hollow of his neck. I was quite certain neither of them had the least awareness of a single thing but the closeness of that touch, the beating of heart on heart.
My throat is full of great big sighs and all the tears have yet to fall. Perhaps you have to have read Son of the Shadows to truly feel the pricking of that passage, but, all the same, it is beautiful. Bran and Liadan.
Damn't, I will never have that. Does anyone, I wonder? Or is it all the stuff of movies and songs and books? Those of us who create, do any do so from experience, or is it merely a desire that drives us all?
Spoke to Ryan today, as he called. He is in town.
I told him I am changed, and do not want to pretend I am the same. Conveyed that I do not wish to see him, too disruptive. He seemed hurt. A part of me is trying to care, but putting very little effort forth.
I still feel like I could throw up.
astera at 11:07 a.m.