I am so grateful for Mr. Charrington. It is recklessly dangerous, though, meeting in the Prlitarian London. If there are any spies here we are all screwed. I have already told Julia that we are the dead. There is no getting around it. Yet my love for her hides all aspects of danger. As i stood in the upstairs attic room, i imagined Julia and i waking up every morning together in that bed, a normal couple to say the least. Its antiqueness makes it that more compelling. Knowing that those artifacts saw the past before the revolution makes me excited. IF only they could speak, tell me their story and what they have seen.
It has been difficult to meet lately what with Hate Week just around the corner. All those extra hours away from Julia make me want her even more.
His room that we are renting is the only sense of protection i have. I hate those telescreens, the watchful eye, the nasty shouting that always keeps me in line. Those creepy spies and posters of BB... i hate it all.
So as i sit here with the diary open and my paperweight by my right hand all i can think of is Julia and i trapped in that glass figurine. us simulating the coral with the thick glass as our protection from the truths of this horrid world.
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