N.D.
I understand neither myself nor my feelings. I have known this man scarce a month and yet...he is inescapably kind to me, and I do not understand it. I do not understand why a man would be kind to me in such a way without wanting something in return. What does he desire? I sometimes wonder.
I know it is not what most men desire, for he had made that clear when we drank ourselves into a stupor. He is strange, and yet I desire to understand him...and more. I cannot understand things but on my own terms, and should I tell him of my affections, I do not believe he would care for it. And yet.
I remember that time ago, with the physician, how little he cared for anyone. I wonder if I am not placing myself in a similar position with this kind man? Why do I desire to rip my heart out from my chest and give it to all and sundry? No, not all and sundry, but those who would receive it and stomp upon it with their booted feet.
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I am feeling worse. I talked to the female physician to whom I was recommended. She comes as a person of repute. She, too, had spent some brief time in Bree-land. I spoke to her today for a time, and she tried to bleed me. When she bandaged my wound, I felt so weak. She asked me questions, so many questions. My head spun with them.
She suspects if she cannot find some sort of curative for me, I may waste away to death.
