Goodbye Loch

Day 1

She'd always told me that I ought to put my feelings down in writing sometime.

"Oh, dear you've got such a vivid mind and a way with your words I've never heard the likes of in all my days," she'd tell me.

I always dismissed the notion, told her "You're just saying that cause I'm your husband! And besides, I's no book loving coward, I's a man!" But I figured maybe I finally ought to listen to her advice. I reckon "being a man" didn't get me very far, all things considered.

It's been one year today. Since she passed. Can't help but think of her. Each night, it seems, she comes to me in me dreams. At this point, I've nearly become accustomed to this, becoming aware it's a dream every time, just dreading the moment I wake up to an empty spot in the bed beside me. And yet I keep on going. But why? The inn's nice and all, decent pay and decent food and drink, but I can't help feeling crushed the longer I stay.

I just know she'd want me to make something of meself, instead of drinking away me sorrows, and I reckon it's bout time I did so. I'm using this here journal as a way to keep track of me travels as I leave the Loch. Think I'll be leaving most of me things here as well, can't stand to look at em and all that. Only reminders of her I'm taking with me are the rings I made for us and the memories we shared. 

I think she was right. I do fancy meself a bit of a warrior-poet.