Dixit Insipiens

Still spiteful. The kernel of bitterness, resentment and self-pity burst open this morning and I was one with the pouring rain. I felt like Orual, holding that small, tattered book filled with complaints.

Is that how laments actually feel like? Such deep measure of grief tore through me that the loud sounds proceeding forth were so strange, yet that was my real voice.

Are we not one, made to live in harmony? I have already forgotten what it was like when the family was truly four. A gentle answer turns away wrath, as the proverb goes. Not much of that from me. The grief was poisoned till the torrents cleared away the layers hiding the resentment I guess.

Still hard to love. Almost like I don't know how to, for him anymore. Oh, Brother. Why can't you be like other brothers? I want to love you, Brother. You know we love you, Brother.