Wednesday, July 04, 2012

I must have spoken too soon, for no sooner had I returned home from my previous amour's chambers did I see a letter upon the table in the South Wing. It was hand writing that I recognised, and it filled me with hope!


To think that a letter can have a similar effect on me as to the days when I used to encounter the Captain, but a letter is all I have of him at the moment.


I don't know if I am patient enough to contend with the distances between us. It took over a fortnight for me to hear from him, anything, while I had ripped open my emotions and bled them onto a page for his disposal. He says he misses me. 


I know how that feels.


He tells me to keep out of trouble. (How does he know?!)


The Captain wants to hear about my life, and all I want to do is tell him, to whisper it in his ear and have him laugh at my misdemeanours, chastising my silly behaviour, knowing that he'd never leave me...

But he is 12,000 miles away. And I start at the Convent this weekend. 


No frolicking with the past lover (who I have to admit has crossed my mind more than once these last few days).
No provoking or scandalising any priests (even if they deserve it).
No drinking to forget the pain in my heart. It's not a solution, it only prolongs the agony because I'm subdued.


I shall learn, teach and pray for the future.


I look forward to seeing the nun again. I wonder how much her little boy has grown!? I worry about my love for the Captain but there are greater miseries and mysteries in the world.


If my love for him diminishes then he will always be a pleasant memory to warm cold and lonely nights.


If, however, our love prevails, then it will be all the sweeter for the time and distance between us.


Or so I keep telling myself.





D. S.