Dear Journal

January 15th

Dear Journal,

It's well past midnight, and sleep eludes me once again.

I hate nights like these. I'm restless and a nightcap isn't doing its usual trick.

My mind is a restless whirlwind, thoughts of May weaving in and out of my consciousness like threads through the fabric. I'm starting to despise her just a little bit. How can she insert herself in my life like it's nothing? I see her in my designs, her ethereal grace bringing life to the sketches scattered across my studio. Each creation, imbued with the essence of her spirit, feels almost tangible, yet maddeningly out of reach.

I've been thinking a lot. Mostly about the memories of my childhood surface, unbidden but insistent.

You see...fashion was my escape, my salvation from a turbulent upbringing. My mother, a figure of both fascination and sorrow, was the catalyst. She was an alcoholic, her neglect a shadow that loomed over my formative years.

Yet, it was through her that I found my calling.

I remember trailing behind her, a curious child lost in the chaos of her world. She was always impeccably dressed, her beauty a fragile mask hiding the cracks beneath. Fashion shows were a regular escape for her, and I, a silent observer, absorbed the spectacle and glamour. The vibrant colours, the extravagant designs, and the creative energy captivated me, offering a sanctuary from the dysfunction at home. I don't remember my father being there. I'd see him come and go, sometimes with a woman who wasn't my mother or sometimes alone in the garden sitting under the tall oak tree as he smoked.

My refuge was my mind.

In those moments, I discovered a passion that would shape my future. I vowed to carve a different path, to create beauty out of chaos, and to bring order to my own life through the art of fashion. Yet, even now, I wonder how much of that drive is rooted in a desire to redeem the brokenness of my past.

Dear god, I truly am pathetic.

Maybe that's why I've latched onto May.

She represents a beacon of inspiration in my current struggle, her presence a reminder of what fashion could be—pure, untainted by the commercial pressures and personal demons that haunt me. I can't help but think of how I would mould her into this impossible and unstoppable force of nature. She has the drive, I could see it in her eye but she just needs the right environment.

Her influence could be transformative.

Yet, the problem remains. She works for Tesero, a place that she chose. The thought of manipulating her circumstances to align with my desires gnaws at me. It feels wrong, a betrayal of the very essence that makes her so special. But the allure of having her by my side, guiding my designs, is powerful.

I am torn. My ambition whispers that I should do whatever it takes to succeed, to recapture the glory that once came so effortlessly. But my conscience, shaped by the very journey that brought me here, cautions against such a path. I must find a way.

I'm not a good man. Good people don't think about revenge or find ways to serve their ambition.

Emily wasn't a good person either. She was the light of my life but she hid her darkness well. We were twisted together and I thought that it was enough.

But no...life is far from being fair.

James and Emily are happy, they've won and I'm a humiliated man nursing my ego. I wonder how they would react if I snatched May away from them.

I can see the sun starting to peak out from the horizon. Another sleepless night, another tiresome day.

I am left with more questions than answers. These are the dilemmas that keep me awake, the battles that rage within my soul.

For now, I must put these aside and get ready for work.

Perhaps, in time, the right path will become clear.

Maybe.

Much to do,

- Alexander