Louisville, KY

Journal Entry – April 9, 1871

**April 9, 1871** Today, the scent of iron shavings hung thick in the air, a pungent reminder of the industry that envelops this city. The forges hum with life while I walk past the pension lines, where weary figures stand in hopes of a financial lifeline. I catch a glimpse of the faces, mostly worn and drawn, yet buoyed by the fleeting optimism that comes with government promises. It’s a strange sight—to see false widows flourishing while their hearts still ache for a love lost in the smoke of battle.

As I observe these women, adorned in dark, ill-fitting garments, I feel unease wash over me. They cling to borrowed names and identities, their stories woven from threads of loss and survival. The titles may offer protection, but I worry that the weight of expectation might suffocate them. I seem to fit among them too well; my own guise feels less like a mask and more like a second skin. What shall I become if I remain entangled in this deception?

Each day unfolds layers of a life that feels increasingly distant from the one I left behind. These streets may promise a fresh start, yet they echo the loneliness I cannot escape. Perhaps the borrowed name offers a sense of belonging, but I find myself longing for the authenticity of my own. Identity feels like a river, flowing and shifting, and I fear I am adrift without a paddle, unsure of where I might land. *The weight of false names continues to press against me, heavy with unspoken truths.*