Methos' Journal: Date Illegible
by Lisa Hughes

 

From Watcher records... a handwritten sheet, found in an abandoned house in Northern Europe, 1848, apparently torn from a bound volume


Today the pain is very much present to me. Time passes, and yet it does not heal. I am weary of the loss, the grief. I am weary of this immortality.

"Refus'd thee even the boon to die: The wretched gift Eternity Was thine -- and thou has borne it well."

Have I? Sometimes I wonder. Today my loss is a physical ache. My very bones protest the knowledge that my love is gone. And it does no good to know my pain would be less had I not loved so greatly.

Love. In the end, all else burns away. Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am," but he was wrong. "I love, therefore I am," is much nearer the mark. I continue. And I learn. But it is only through love that in my living I may grow... and so bear this 'wretched gift.'

For immortals, it is often hard to love. In the beginning we resist it, knowing it can only end in pain. But as we grow, evolve, we slowly realize that though we buy the joy with great pain, the reward is far greater than the cost.

"Love is a weakness, the surrender to which requires courage... and brings strength." It is with that strength that we move forward in our immortality. Knowing that they will die, knowing that in the end we will be alone and in pain, and choosing to love despite this. In embracing the pain, we find joy. And grow stronger.

My beloved, I love you still. I miss your kindness, your laughter, and our walks in the rain. Sleep the great sleep in peace, my love.


End  

notes (courtesy Watcher Research):
1) Poetry is an excerpt from "Prometheus" by Lord Byron.
2) The origin of the other quotation is unknown, no references found.