Personal notes: Thoughts.. not to be kept

Am I developing scholar habits? I would write yet never have I kept a dairy and also is none I would write my thoughts to make it a letter. The beauty of writing on this pale yellow parchment, the subtle shine of the ink reflecting a sun ray, the temptation of drawing each sign as if a masterpiece in itself, they drag away my concerns leaving my mind in a silence as that of nights on the peaks of mountains... I am away from my home. My mind tells me I traveled further in other directions yet here I feel most away ever. Eregion seems to draw deeper emotions out of the depths of us all and change us. My friend is searching loneliness often this days and even when near he is so far in his thoughts that I feel he looks trough the walls of this ruins into a time or place I cannot see. Our Noldor companions are more silent then in Imladis, yet the decision in their eyes perhaps more alive and burning then the words spoken with passion in the Hall of Fire. I see the same look at times in Cirdamir's eyes and I dare not talk as my short years did not teach me the words to sooth such pain and anger I guess in his heart. I feel I can only try to be there if needed, to offer help or advice if he will chose to share this burden with me as only furtive glances while he thought me asleep allowed me to get such glimpse beyond the forever kind smile and calm words. While others prepare their weapons or draw plans I spent my time exploring and hunting, avoiding the Orc encampments and those of Men. I admired the ruins present at each step, reminding of a glory long passed from times of legend. The lines are more slender and bold, the lace of stone decorations reminding more the sharp edges of gems then the curved and knotted stems of flowers used in the architecture of Rivendell and Falathlorn. The stone is whiter in the light of sun, like burned of any life it might have hosted I found some of the herbs I knew and tried the potion recipes I read in Lord Elrond's library. The sun shining more powerful above the plains of Holin seems to give the Athelas more strength and a faster effect, like for preparing one for a final, vital and irresistible push in a fight his soul longs for instead of a slow recovery of body and spirit. Eregion seems to have an essence of fire and to plant the seeds of this essence into the blood of those walking its plains, so different from the cool and alive shadow of the cliffs coated in ivy and adorned with perfumed clusters of flowers such as those our kin usually prefer. How long is it since our kin marched for war, away from the sanctuaries we kept as refugees for our art and peace and as places to prepare for the one journey away from this wold many say it will not remain our home for much longer? Yet I see myself among warriors that fought those wars of old and now rise swords again. I feel I stepped in a story of thousands of years ago.. A story of war and fire. A story where the strength of one's arm and the swiftness of his sword decide if is the hot grass of Eregion he will squish into the perfume of summer or the cold marble of the Halls of Mandos he will step on the next day. And I learn much of my heart.. [The paper meets discretely its end the same evening in the camp fire, crumpled, burning slowly, embers drawing complex designs on its edges before transforming it in a pile of yellowish ashes]