Chapters of Days Gone Past [Talia’s Journal]

There seems to be something intricately different, different about the way I see life.

Perhaps it's just me, but sometimes it feels as if time can age you depending on how you see your life.

I might be wrong, but after spending my time with a vampire well over some age I presume to be three-hundred, that he acts not much different than a man entering his thirties with the wisdom of a man in his sixties. Very much free, but quite reserved in the way he paces himself through the things he observes.

It's funny, I think the more I observe him, the more I wonder how he might match up to someone in today's age. If there's vampires his age and if he's seen them all, sort of fed up with his pool of options and ventured off elsewhere. I'm not saying I-

I guess, I am, that'd be stupid to say I'm not interested in an older man. I mean, typically, I'm not, but how do you place an age on someone older than your great grandparents that have already passed away?

Still, sometimes he seems lonely and I feel that way too.

Like I'm walking with stilts over the ocean, afraid that if I dip my feet in, I might just try to touch the bottom. And the bottom is a long way down.

He thumbed over the last of page, staring down at the journal quietly, wondering if she would have still thought that now. Something in his heart told him otherwise, and his eyes flicked up to the window as he collected up her stuff slowly. "Well, I suppose opinions change with emotions, as that is the nature of a thought. It isn't always stagnant, and irreformable." It was quite malleable in fact.

Scraping the journal from the desk with the laptop into a duffle bag. He slowly emptied the contents of her drawers into the large suitcase, knowing that this was the last remnant of her existence in the tiny expanse of the loft. The last existence before she would disappear without a trace, never to be heard of or seen again.