It is almost eleven o’clock of the morning on a Sunday, and I think I feel San through the bond.
It is impossible. It is odd, however. We were in the midst of other things (we leave shortly for an exhibition), and the feeling is strong. Perhaps it is Avalon. She has been grieving of late, but I do not have time to write of it as properly as I wish, just now. If she finds her father, I am glad for it.
Or perhaps I am going mad.
The last night and this morning have been a spiralled moment of thinking of it, I suppose. I am reminded of Morningstar: Only forward.
But ah, I miss my beloved regardless. Not as I did before, waiting. Yet, I do.