He is made of words, they fall from his lips like a waterfall, rapid, sudden and always more wonderful than can possibly be imagined.
Is still cannot fathom him, he's strange, different, a laughing shepherd with a silver tongue whose words can dance circles around me. I always long to be back with him, when I leave to attend on the duke. To drink in his words, to see that smile and know it's for me.
It seems such a silly game when I really think about it, but when I'm with him it doesn't seem so strange. I can easily believe he's Rosalind, he makes me feel the same way and I feel like I see something in him that reminds me of her, they've become one in my mind. It is strange I do not miss Rosalind, but I still love her with all my heart, but this game is an easy one to play. It feels real, he's not Rosalind and yet he is, he's something different, yet I feel his soul reminds me of hers.
He certainly looks like her, the same glittering eyes as deep and easy to get lost in as the sea, the same soft hair, incandescent smile and ringing laugh that seems but a whisper on the breeze. He is pretty, very pretty, and he does look just like her, sometimes when the sun catches on his face, and it is awash with light I find it hard to look away.
Last night he dragged me to a glade in the woods, and we lay on the ground staring up at the stars. The sky seemed made of light, and the whole world lay before me and the heavens were opening up to give us mortals a moment f heavenly bliss. He told me about his mother, how she taught him to laugh and see all the smiles left in the world. How she died, and the world was suddenly a shade less bright. I wish I could have met her, I wish I could have met him then, been his friend. I like when Ganymede tells me these things, it makes everything feel more real, and less of a game, and who he really is comes to the surface. I grabbed his hand and he didn't let go, leaning his head on my shoulder. It felt right, it was nice and warm and soft, softer than shepherds hands should be. I felt content, here in Arden everything seems all right, and I want to live, so badly. Before I met Rosalind whose soul showed itself in an instant, before I came to Arden, before I met Ganymede whose soul seems so familiar to me, I wouldn't have minded dying. I didn't want to die, but I wasn't desperate to live either. Now though I want to live, so I don't miss out on a single moment of this wonderful, glorious life. There are people who I hope will miss me, and even in God's great kingdom where all crying stops I would miss them. Life is precious to me now, for in it I have found the person who gives me a reason to live, and I feel needed and wanted and so wonderfully alive.