The first pages are half-written, struck out, and some even crumpled. The evidence of abandoned writings, they accompany the responding letter.
I get few letters, and for this, I give great thanks, for it means I may contrebute all of my energy to those which I write to you. I wander about in the day mostly undisturbed and thus compose letter after letter after letter with the inkwell of my mind, and here is the most curious thing: I too hesitate! I too strike out many words. I too find myself unable to settle on what I beleave are the perfect ones so therefore I write the most accurate ones
I do not ever think your words lame. I admire them. They are you.
You write many sweet things to me, of blossoms and seeds, and I find myself wishing only that there were more (so selfish a sentiment, and take comfort: I find the words you write very satisfying). For here is a truth: I am not so often used to flattering words and may very well be hungry for
Hardships: many of them we have. What I most fear however is revisiting a time when I was not so bu bo boyent a presence in your life. I remember when first I discovered myself enamored with you; I feared you would be afraid of
Do ever your dreams, too, delve into fantasy? Imagined escapades and wonders, but that we share them together? Sometimes they are mundane images of us supping in a warm evening or others of us smelling of campfire smoke and boiling good tea and then there are others: you teach me to swim, or I teach you to sing, or we are dancing, and
Sometimes I get scared to write truth of feeling, for I fear I will damage us find the right words words words words why can this pen not FIND THE RIGHT WOR
The true letter, however, is the last. A dollop of late-night wax marks the page.
H'zlz,
Others would think I am clumsey with words, but mostly, I am unsure with them. When I resieve a letter from you, I am off to the office or the quarters or even to the edge of town where I may be alone with what you write. I read it many times over. I shape the words out with my mouth. Some sentences are so full of you that I must pause and wonder what they would sound like if you spoke them. That is how I spend many aggriefed nights when my head is so full of noise that I cannot sleep, I tame it by reading your words.
I struggle many times to write the first page of a letter. I have included them, these failed thoughts, because I wish you comfort: for every one word which survives upon a page, ten others are put to ruin, and yet these words are no less better than the others, rather it is that I want only the Very Best for your eyes, and must obsess over them riggerously.
The gifts you give are words both sent and unsent. Be kind to yourself: the grace of your brilliants and your kindness transend the page.
Darras sounds positivaly wondrous and I will await the books you have sent. Perhaps you will let me read of them? Perhaps this is a task we may undertake together?
Forgive me if this letter does not touch upon every nuance of yours, for it is written by a woman overtaken with her excitement for conversing with you. I will be very happy when you have returned, and were it not so pitifully selfish a request and were you any less inclined to be a woman of her promise and word, I would encourage you to depart separately and return with haste. Your dedication and compassion are however but two of your many astounding qualitys and I am proud to know you, so fair and amicable to the needs of friends.
Two curiosities:
One, I have left for you in your wardrobe a gift. Wonder upon it in the meantime; I shall provide no further hints!
Two, a man has said to me (Harpen, do you know him? It was from his stores that a poisonous fauna was stole by the Creature in Question), he has said I am afflicted with mela mello mallencolia. It is not an affliction which may be contracted; I shall see that it is completed wholly by the eve of your return, and perhaps wonder if your very presence shall render it powerless. In this, your unusual feeling, I believe, is shared: I think of you, and the air is lighter, and the day is warmer, and the nights more refreshing; I am given reprieve, and I smile.
Excitement abounds. I find myself eager to surrender my position here, in that it means your handsome presence is nearer to me than it has been in four years, and I shall be very happy to support you in your endavors, curiositys, and successes.
Yours, who breathes, and imagines herself in Dreams. For you.
G'leuse