Early Grey

 

 
Dear Charles, 

It has been a fortnight since we last communicated. There is a sense of fun or hope that has left with you out the door. Something I likely won’t get back. Despite my daily regime of vitamins and strange lamp that looks like a sun. A new shadow is across my life here. I have shaved now. My face resembling that of prepubescent boy, but it doesn’t darken. There is no light no sun. There is a dripping faucet that I cannot fix. And my Penny Farthing’s small tire is flat. But that is no matter, because I have no one to ride it with. I mostly go out at night now, under light that’s been reflected and dispersed so as to not conjure my memory or places we used to be together. The kettle doesn’t boil the water. Nor my Victorian era clothing keep me warm, where they use to make my skin boil I now freeze to the bone. Earlier during a portrait session I couldn’t even pose for 30 minutes, without bursting into tears.I know you are off on one of your conquests to a new world, but don’t forget about me. Also remember to bring back some tea, and don’t do what you normally do where you label it breakfast tea but it turns out to be Earl Grey I hate that stuff. I know you love it Charles, but its not to everyones taste.  


Sincerely Yours,

George Cavendish