Illegible Journal Entry

22/09/1891 23:42

Obligatory statement before any entry:

I will be recounting as fast as I am able. This particular night I can't afford to lose. I will mistake things regardless (unless I stressed otherwise.) You, reading this, must understand that it is often beyond my control. I've written the exact same thing before or even said it to you directly, but I feel like I must clarify always.

To this, I add too, despite what you have said (and you claimed to have said it often), that I'm deeply sorry.

It was a quiet night from what I felt to be a noisy day, though details are already gone. It was also colder than most days and ever darker despite the season. Lately it seems no rule matters to the earth nor sky as time flew past them quickly without mercy. It could be snow yesterday and heatwave the next day. Though must be noted that it's possible I had mistaken the season. I mistook a lot of things.

I lit a lantern in my bedroom. I didn't touch the electric switch. I heard this was how it was in the older days. I was writing.

In quiet nights like so, always (and I don't mistake this one) there would be him knocking on the door.

(I will refer to you as third person, for easiness. Perhaps there'd be someone else reading, who knows? Maybe I'll allow it one day. Don't feel strange about it.)

It might be perceived as rather immodest for others to visit someone such late into the night, but Bonaparte didn't even try to be discreet. When I opened the door I find him grinning, as often.

"Ah, you're writing again. Not lighting the fireplace?" he asked.

"It's not that cold."

"Nonsense as usual. Let me in."

It's colder out in the hallway, so I did let Bonaparte in. Instantly I made to the desk again before I could forget anything, ignoring him. It's hard to recall thoughts after long. As I said I haven't reread it, but I'm a bit worried to find the entry before this to be only some cut off unfinished thoughts as a result of this distraction. Although it's better than nothing. And, in my opinion, this 'distraction' is not at all an unpleasant thing.

Napoleon meanwhile, was fussing about the cold still and the blankets and the sheets (being cold also). He at one point asked, had I ever actually lay in it? I answered in proper. Logically, last time I lay in it would be at night yesterday, and you know how the deal is with my recollection. I recall you being a bit upset of my vague answer so I ought to say my defence. So y̶o̶u̶ he wrapped himself in said blanket anyway, commenting about how I couldn't feel the cold. In reality, it is cold. Only that I didn't know where the firewood is. I wouldn't wake up the only butler this late at night.

(Perhaps I should make a note of this and stick it to the fireplace. I don't remember how often it is for the night to be cold so I never bothered. When you read this, remind me.)

Bonaparte walked up to the desk and sat on it, just beside my papers and book, because he has no respect for anything. What are you writing? he asked. This he asked often, I think, only for small talk. He obstructed the lantern behind him, making him in front of me seemed like a mere silhouette with gold outlines, his hair all over the place framed his face in light and he looked towards me down. His eyes were burnt beryl. It was impossible to look away. At this time, I noticed that my pen was dry, and I scratched the bit of it left before dipping in my inkwell.

Bonaparte leaned down to squint at my writing, despite his own shadow obstructing it. His face being right in front of me caused warmth in my chest to grew and it was as if the first time I've ever felt it. I know this is foolish, because I've known you since long (exactly how long I can't be sure. It could be since yesterday or forever. It felt like forever.) But I felt this rather important to write from time to time. I am not timid to write anymore, even if you often blush while reading. It's way too important to be embarrassed about. What is left there in your pride? You are welcome to burn this after reading it if you wish, because I wouldn't notice, but know that this is for me too to read so I could remember. Don't be a stuck-up bastard.