The 25th day of September 2023


As the weekend closes and I stir this Monday, I find the realisation of your absence has sharpened once more. I do so miss our conversations and the bottomless joy of your company.

I made my final visit to the storyteller this morning. His tale is over and I enjoyed it very much. I’m not sure why I finish such long stories in the morning as this tends to put my mind askew for the rest of the day.

I am consigned to my office for the first part of the day, though I do not intend to spend the entire day here. I shall make my escape to the Broken Tankard as soon as it seems proper to do so. This room puts me in mind of you considerably. Most notably our last fleeting meeting. That does bring a smile to my face, though as with all time spent with you, it passed entirely too quickly.

The other prospect that looms this week is my travels to that greyest of places on Wednesday. I am entirely unprepared for the journey, both physically and mentally, and its undertaking while simple, does not delight me. I am hoping as the week advances I am able to force myself to enjoy it.

Our favourite couple lay in the park as I passed them this morning. They were enjoying the last warm sun of the year, so it seems. His head rested in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair. I found their sweet disposition disarming, but who knows what impropriety was brewing behind their eyes.

I’ve made references to my previous letters, should you not be able to find them. I make a bold assumption that you are reading them, but I hope that you are.

Yours, A.