Worries Coming Back

I had a dream, while in the safe haven with Julia, of how my mother was vaporized and my sister likely killed, as well. It pulled me back into the depression of years past, and to all my worries of taking steps closer to the grave. Julia is a very comforting dear. I admire her carefree nature and ability to simply remain in the present without any worries of the future. It's horrible to think of our impending doom. It doesn't matter when it comes in the future; just the knowledge that it will come is impossible to worm around. However, if I can adopt Julia's state of mind, I can enjoy the existence I have left. That, at least, is comfort. However long we have left, it will be together.

The Brotherhood Exists

I always knew it must, somewhere, somehow. I knew O'Brien had to be a part of it. I can be a part of it, now, and Julia can, too. We can make a difference for the couples like us in the future. It will be a wonderful adventure and we can do our part. I can't describe my emotions from the moment O'Brien approached me to now. I look forward to actually joining, but at the same time I feel trepidation and horror at the risk that I wish to take. It is such folly to actually join and creep ever closer to death, but I am so enamored with the very idea of taking part. I am sure we can and will do it, but what of the danger? What of the awful foreboding I feel deep inside me?

Life Going On

Everyone is in a frenzy for Hate Week. Even we are, at work and in our separate homes. But in our room to ourselves, everything is peaceful and lovely, though very warm. We meet often, and talk often, and I learn things about my Dearly Beloved. She has exceptional insights in matters that relate directly to her own sexuality, but in matters that don't touch her life, she is as much of a sheep as any other girl her age. She's very involved in the present and only the present. If not palpable, with her, it need not be considered. Some of this ignorance, though, makes her a woman of more freedom than I have with my brooding. In the end, we seemed to balance each other out, optimism and pessimism, present and past. Together we are happy, I am happy, and more healthy than I have ever been. Life goes on, wonderfully.

A Place of Our Own

I've rented the room above the antique shop from Mr. Charrington. Even though it's truly idiocy to use the attic, it's worth it just to be out of sight together and to be able to do whatever we want. Julia brings things from the Inner Party to enjoy, and last time she tried some proletarian beauty products. I know the end is coming, but it doesn't matter. I have a happy life right now, and the outside world doesn't matter. We have each other and a home together. The world seems vivid and vibrant, outside of the posters of Big Brother. We have a world inside the world where we rule supreme over ourselves. We are free.

So Rarely Together

Our fear of getting caught is so great, we rarely see each other, and less often still conduct a coherent conversation. We may see each other in the quarters of the proletariat, but quite often do not even utter a thing to one another then. We do not touch often. Our lives are quite separate, and forced farther apart still by the watchful eye of the telescreen and the Thought Police. When we do talk, usually in short snippets when the coast seems clear, I find Julia less interested in the moral issues of this world than I. She's quite a headstrong girl and solidly a rebel in every affair that affects her, but not a one that doesn't. She comforts, though, in her own way, and lead a somewhat optimistic life that I can't help but be sucked into.

Her Name Is Julia

We met, and a dream came true. A dream I had a while ago, of the dark-haired girl's clothes simply flying off her body as if of their own accord, and moreover, the meaning of that act, has become reality. We listened to a thrush warbling in the woods. And though I felt tenderness, it is not towards her, Julia, just yet. For now it's still all dissolved in the general fear and hatred that this world promotes. For now, it is just a political act. However, I have hope, as I must have, that one day there will be pure love and intimacy without a shadow of the hate and fear we are now absorbed by. If not for Julia and me, then it must someday exist for the future.

The Dark-Haired Girl

A new hope for life has come over me. Sometime, after I read that note, a desire to live welled up inside. It is a wish for survival that exists only to stay alive to be with the dark-haired girl. Perhaps the Brotherhood is real, and perhaps its existence can feed some change into Oceania. We together, the dark-haired girl and me, might help the change to take form. If we stay quiet and undiscovered, the mere act of our joint thoughtcrime could begin a new Oceania and a new Airstrip One. I can only hope that our thoughtcrime brings us to the place without darkness, instead of to a place of only darkness six feet under the ground.