From what valley

A simple question I ask myself

From what valley do I draw my strength?
By whom's will do "we" stand fast
And are we to everlast?

It's not rare that I ask myself why I keep going, but it is more common that I have to convince myself to. I keep her letters and her words tucked neatly away in the bottom of a small chest, along with my most valued possessions and knick knacks. I'll often draw them out and empty their contents onto my old drafting desk (fitted with a drawer).

Lighting a candle and turning off the lights, I'll sit down and put on my spectacles; taking a deep breath at the seemingly vast amount of her words on paper. It is only after I realise it's not alot of words but their meaning to me, their weight on my heart no less than gravity on planets: keeping them together. The aroma of the candle tingles my nose so lightly I have to concentrate to smell it fully, to which I sniffle, as it drys the air.

I have been many things to her, I have been the subject of her anger and at our closest times, her Ailein Duinn. We have been worlds apart, and sometimes even considered "one". Somewhere inside me I still believe there is no end to "we", somewhere something drives me. It isn't her words, they serve as a reminder to me that I have that part of me. No matter how good my memory is, the heart forgets. So I can always use a reminder of her words, the ways she loves me. Sometimes I think she could be use a reminder of her own feelings aswell.

At this point I smell coffee, or is that tea? I have been skimping on the coffee for the sake of my stomach, so it's probably the tea from a few days ago. Strange, I will often smell the tea I had many days after the fact. There's something charming about a candle-lit letter reading session.

"Haha."

I chuckle at a doodle she drew of me and her and a child we would call our own. I remember her smiling about it, being happy about that thought. My chuckle soon turned silent and I felt the urge to cry. So I folded it back up and pushed it away, looking at the lit candle flicker about.

It took a few minutes for me to return to reality and realise I needed to stop my bad habbit of tearing the skin next to my thumbnails with my index finger nails.

"How could she..."
Love me? I finished the question in my head. I'm young compared to my life span but my heart is ailing, my eyes are weary, and my body is aching. It's like I'm speeding towards death.

As I was packing her letters and drawings back, I noticed the folded up drawing that had caused me a tear. I wanted to see it again. I looked at it and instead of crying I was reminded where I get every bit of my stubborness. Every ounce of my heart, came from her eyes. Not her words, but what I saw in her eyes.

Author's Note

I recently got put on some blood pressure medication to keep it down and am getting results on bloodwork back tomorrow. I haven't written a chapter in a while, plus I can't fall asleep so I thought I'd write a bit.