Weary Memory, Part 4

His hands quake as he removes one of the journals from the shelf. Taking it into his arms, he sits on the floor with his back against the bed. She remains seated, unmoving, watching his every move. Her heart has an anxious pleasure welling up from within. Finally he will see. Finally he will know. Far too long has he dwelt in ignorance and denial. She longs for him to know the truth.

His hand strokes the cover with his hand slowly. The journal he picked up is bound in worn tan leather. The quality of the binding tells him that it was purchased long ago, when times were better and fine items were easier to come by. The cover reminds him of a pair of boots he used to wear in the fields. Those boots now lie in the corner of the house, worn apart with multiple holes, covered in dirt. They have remained unworn for years. His feet have no use for the worn out and battered leather. For years, the leather separated him from the mud. It came between his feet and the dirt of the world. That leather kept his world as he wanted it to be. Protected. Isolated. Comfortable.

"Untrue" she thinks to herself.

With all of the strength inside of him, he makes a bold move and opens the book in his lap. His eyes widen in disbelief as he reads what is on the page.