It amazes me how life continues on, how the world still turns. Continuing on seems more trivial as time passes. Since I was a young child, my father has stood at my side. Make no mistake, I was never babied, but to lose the only person who’s been there since your birth isn’t something that passes over you like water over the riverbed. No. This wound goes beyond skin deep.
The walls of this structure become more prisonlike every minute that I walk through them. No longer do they echo with his voice. No longer are they riddled with his trinkets left scattered about. No longer does he pace the regal halls. No longer am I sure of my reason to remain here.
I’ve spent the day in my study, the majority of the time spent staring through the window out at the bordering forest. The property extends a kilometer or two in a radius around the mansion most of this being forested, but I recall only once or twice ever encountering that border. I’ve spent my entire life on this estate. I attribute this to my father, who was never fond of travel. It wouldn’t mind this, if it didn’t mean that I now have no other acquaintances. I’ve become trapped in my own home, trapped from the outside world. I can only hope that another will come along. I’m so lonely.
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