After Winter
It's been months, honestly I'd almost forgotten about this book. Almost forgotten, until Frida found the loose floor boards while cleaning. She was curious what it was, until I snatched it back out of her hands before she could read anything.
I wanted to forget this all, but maybe what he would want is for me to continue writing in it. At least it would give me someone to talk to now that I don't have him.
It's been a long winter with no one to talk to. The colder months always remind me more of home and it's been torture having no one who knows what this time of year was like back home.
I've been trying to teach Eilidh about the traditions our homeland but she doesn't remember much; anything really. She was too little, I guess, but it still hurts like a knife to think that no one has taught her. That I haven't taught her.
He was my memory of home. He was what kept me from completely forgetting. Now he's gone, and it hurts to remember.
In just over a week, it will be the day we were meant to get married. The day I was meant to wear a dress made of off-white silk brought from foreign shores, by him. The day I was meant to wear flowers braided in my hair and line up with the other young women. The day I was meant to become his.
These people have one festival during which people get married and they prepare for it for weeks in the run up, decorating everything with spring flowers. Garlands hung from every house. Children running around and telling each other about their new clothes.
It makes me want to stay in bed and pretend it isn't really happening. Pretend that this festival of renewal isn't really happening. Pretend that I was someone else, someone happy.
It seems like everyone on this island is happy, except me.
I can't do this, I don't know why I tried. I can't be his happy girl any more.
