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Daniel`s Journal

Daniel`s Journal



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Short story Lauren Kate. You can see it at any time, but if retailers are best after "Passion"
Short story Lauren Kate. You can see it at any time, but if retailers are best after "Passion"

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Published by: The Fallen Saga (Saga Oscuros) on Aug 19, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Daniel`s Journal 
Golden, British Columbia 
March 21, 1992 
Next time, I will have to give her up.
In this life we’re already too far along. Our course is set 
. Our old disaster looms ahead. My pen quakes as I write these words: 
I can’t save her.
 It has been one month since she found me at the bookstore. One month since she introduced herself 
this time she goes by Lucy, which is so quaint it is beyond sweet 
blushing as she tucked her hair behind her ear before she shook my hand. One month of taking that hand in mine each afternoon when she returns home from school.I have cherished every inch of her. I have savored every pore of her soft skin and filled up too many sketchbooks with her hypnotizing eyes. Nothing 
is more bittersweet than this month of euphoria. It’s the same with each life’s
I’m a fool to savor it. Especially with the end so near.
 Ages ago, Gabbe told me not to write this book. And th 
ere’s a long list of reasons why she’s right. I’ve been hunted for the things I wrote. Tried for heresy. I’ve gone mortal generations with a price on my head. Of course,
right now the only reason that matters to me is this: If I had never written The Watchers: Myth in Medieval Europe, Lucinda 
wouldn’t have stumbled across me restocking the shelves at the university 
library where her sister attends college. She never would have invited me to walk across the campus to meet Vera after class, never worked up the courage in those ten minutes to give me her phone number on the back of a 
drugstore receipt. We never would have ended up at her parents’ house
later that night. Never walked through the drifts of snow on the path behind 
their cabin, talking for hours,
laughing as if we’d known each other for 
centuries.We would never have fallen in love.
 And she wouldn’t be living her last days.
 No. Even here, in these private pages, why do I continue to delude myself? 
The truth? 
Lucinda would have found me regardless of my stupid book. Just like she always does. She would have tracked me down and followed me and lowered her defenses with a rapidity she never understands. She would still have fallen in love. For the thousandth and the first time in her life.
 And why not? It’s not torture for her . . . until the end.
It means it’s up to me to make the change.
Because, as Heaven is my witness, I can’t go on like this. The agony of one
more loss will overwhelm me. Drive me mad. Having to watch her walk once more into the blaze of knowing 
I can’t.
 Let these pages serve as a record: If it takes seventeen years to purge her from my soul 
and I know it will 
—I’ll do it. The addiction will fade away. The
pain of withdrawal has to ease.Is it even possible? That someday love will loosen its grip on me? Until 
she’s only a memory, not a drug I have to have? It’s too hard to imagine,and it’s the only option I have left.
 If I can do that for her, Lucinda will live a long and healthy li 
fe. She’ll dosomething she’s never done before: She’ll die old. She will love and blossom and find happiness. All these things she’s never known before. All 
without me.
It’s too late now, but it won’t always be. I have already begun the
preparations for our next encounter seventeen years down the road.
How to save her. How to pull away.Yesterday, I went to a meeting.
There was a flyer on the bus stop at the corner of Grand and Calgary: Twelve Steps to Overcoming Your Addiction. I was strung out and jittery after five hours of not seeing her. Five hours. It was all I could do to wait for her to get home from school so I could take her in my arms and 
Hold back. Because I always have to hold myself back. The moments when 
I haven’t have been the moment 
s when she died. As soon as I kissed her,as soon as I did what I felt I was made to do, she was taken away from me.Love. Vanishing. Into thin air.I know all of this so well, but it has never gotten easier to control.So I memorized the address on the flyer. I got on the bus and I traveled some distance and I got off. I walked into the dim, low-ceilinged room in the annex of a church. I sat on a hard folding chair in a small circle of grim-faced strangers. When it was my turn, I stood up. I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the burning itch of my wings when I said, Hello, my name is Daniel,and I am an addict.
They nodded and recognized me. They said: Tell us about your greatest high.
The other day. For example. I went further than usual with my drug of 
choice. A walk in the woods, that’s all. Snow falling, sun burning through thetrees, and her. I’ll wager no one has ever felt more alive. It was like I couldn’t get enough. I knew that it could have turned ugly—
I knew I was dancing with an overdose. But one tempting kiss was just so beautiful. The truth is, every time is exactly as intoxicating. Every moment surpasses metaphor.They said: Now describe rock bottom.
Emptiness. Raw and consuming. From the first instant I run out until the instant I get my hands on more. An absolute vacuum ripping through my body, pulling out anything vital I contained. Weight where there should be weightlessness. A withdrawal worse than Hell.

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Anna Montali added this note
Thank you so much Ms Kate for this, for all of it actually. I fell in love with your series almost 4 years ago now and here I am, still utterly love-numbed by it. You're my favorite writer and I dream of the same kind of love that you so skillfully described. Your books mean the world to me, so Thank You. Anna xx
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