Being away from you is driving me into madness. Some may say it is the cold that is turning my mind dark or mood melancholy. Others have suggested my voluntary isolation is the cause. Whatever is said or though, I don’t make an effort to make corrections. To do so, would be to blame you for my malady. Malady? Surely this is not what it has become. I am a writer. Writers tend to be isolated and introverted so why have I suddenly been subjected to peering eyes?
That is what ignites anger, not you. You are my spark. A lovely, glowing ember of a spark. And surely, no one could argue that a spark can be cause for a raging fire. No, Sophie. You are a spark that only burns to provide warmth.
I’ll show them all. I will not throw logs onto their imaginable fire! I will cast off my jacket and gloves to prove the only warmth I need to live comes from thoughts of you, my dear Sophie. I will keep my scarf because you gave it to me. I remember. You did! I know it was a coy gesture that wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone but I. That day, while you were walking along the platform, when a gust of wind came in from the east and blew your gentle curls and your scarf danced into the air and gently landed by my feet. You turned and would not look at me. You looked at everyone else on the platform except me. That is how I knew you wanted me to catch your scarf. I knew you wanted me to keep it because you did not wait for me to give it back. Instead you began to walk faster …. And then faster … until you were nearly running. What a devilish flirt you were that day, Sophie.
I need to finish my writing. I have to rekindle my love affair with my Caligraph, the way I once had before you, Sophie.
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