The Journal of Ech

[SandySocialist 2]

Near the outer pillars of the Cloud Temple, a debonair gentleman lay nestled in the bushes, seeking solace from his drunken headache. His diminutive yet exquisitely charming journal rested nearby, its pages holding just one diary entry. Perhaps, while he is unconscious, you pick it up and read it.

 

11 Snow’s Madiden, 183 s.a.[1]

 

I write this seated, leaning against the pillar across the aisle from the hookah stand at the mouth of Aevos. The Cloud Temple is quiet today. Though, such has become common now.

 

Today is another day[2]

 

Once again I find myself here. I am drunk. Surrounded by the stillness that has become all too familiar. This is such a sacred place. It was alive. Only the sacred things can live in death. I’m rambling.[3] How can one ramble in his own journal? I miss it.

 

To speak of longing for another seems overly dramatic in my case. I have not known such yearning. A less sorrowful admission might be that I do not falter or quiver at hearing a once warm name cooled by destiny or fate, or perhaps by a fleeting gaze after a brawnier man (among other reasons).

 

Honestly, what I miss the most is something I never experienced. My father’s father re-enacted memorable events and told great stories about commotions around the Cloud Temple of Almaris. It might seem dramatic to feel this way about a Temple. However, if I personify myself as the temple itself (which I do), then I would simply say that I am a soul yearning for love. A love I have not had in a very, very long time.

 

Perhaps it is dramatic to miss the once constant sounds of the Temple. But, if I were to think of myself as the temple itself, personified (I do), then what I could articulate is that I am simply a soul who misses being loved.

 

This could be good evidence for why I have never found anyone. I (the temple) yearn for everyone, everywhere, all at once. That could be a good theatrical performance, if I ever see it.

 

The young monk has learned my routine and will likely be by with a vial to soothe the burning in my belly and mind, mostly from the alcohol, and help me sleep.

 

 

To none but me.

Ech.

 

 

 

 

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[1] A misspelling of Maiden is corrected.

[2] These words are discernible only to those with excellent vision. They are heavily crossed out, almost with a sense of anger.  

[3] These words are smudged, likely by a thumb.