This shall be the first testament of the Notsnhoj, spoken without regret. Written upon this unchanging rock, may it last forever, in word, and in truth.
One year ago, I met a girl. With quick wit upon her tongue and a charming smile, she stole my soul and locked it in a place by her side. Perhaps she did not know, or perhaps she did, but it was destined that day that only by her side, could I ever breathe again.
So I will make that trek, that will take me to the place I long to be. To seek to love and be loved, what crime is there in that? It is a route that will take me several years. For I have been displaced to a foreign land to meditate on accounting scriptures. The wisdom of Google Maps advise me that my hike will take me north-west, six thousand kilometers over land and sea.
Now that we on earth have walked the full circumference of the sun, so my heart has reached full bloom. Speak to me anymore of her goodness, and my heart would burst. Whisper to me her deficiencies, and it would overflow with longing. I love her, everything and anything. I would hold her close. And I would never let go, till the day we turn to dust.
Yet there came the day, when a single hand grasped her own. A hand that was not mine. It was a hand I would have shook, any other day. But it was a hand I despised, on that day. A day that was today, the day he grasped her hand. And so my time stands still as I watch the scene before me. I wait and I ponder this. What would I do if the imaginable comes to existence? That that white gentle hand would grow firm in his. That she would gaze into his eyes as one in love.
A hateful scene. There is nothing sweet there. I could pout, I could cry, I could pretend to be filled with joy. But whatever I do, it will not change this. That my chest would be heavier than the sinking sand. My frown would show the many years that I have not lived. It is a bitter thought, and it leaves a bitter aftertaste.
Wait for me. I am only a little away. Let me finish my trek.
Johnston
