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I wish I could write something anything lately about what I really feel for my dearest. I am ever so much in love… and I read the old words from her and I.
It all seems so lovely, but now things feel so much more grounded. Not in a bad way. We used to soar and fall before in the heights and depths of thrilling bliss and overcoming fear.
Now a high hill with a tower stands where only a cliff had been. There, on the east side in an open balcony, we stand together looking at the new sun, still barely above the horizon of our time together. It still rest in the familiar hills and valleys of our past, but its rays illumine forest glades we’ve only glimpsed in hopeful dreams. And with those fields and valleys the future stands like the tower behind us and beneath us.
But all that is simply metaphor. I said once that I wanted to be there to hold her until all the sorrow drained away. Now I want more than that. I want to always hold her.
I’ll meet you in that glade.
Feste's Lute 