It is easier, I think, to discuss the past than the present. Certainly Magdalena and San’s love has been well discussed, known for first its strength and purity and now for how such a thing would end.
But with my archangel I find it difficult to speak thus. For one thing I am more prone to prose now and in prose there is less room to prevaricate. For another I doubt myself a little.
And yet, for all that this week has had its pleasures I look forward to nothing so much as to speak with him more easily again. Both about the pleasures, and other things. No; not look forward to. I crave it ridiculously. I wish his thoughts, his tea, his insight – and him. And I wish to know what it is he has been experiencing in the mean time.
This is not so exciting, perhaps, as swords and stones. Perhaps I will bring a sword, then.