My lovely and wonderful Sophia-

I can see you know, as you open this letter, but you will not read it just yet. You will make sure it is a letter and act as if you are reading it if there others around, but I know you will not read it until late tonight, when you are alone in our bedroom. Once you are alone, you will open the envelope slowly, as if it is an epistle from our Father and then in all loving respect slowly lay these pages out on the desk by the window overlooking your rose garden.

You will read these words very slowly, letting them flow through your mind like melted honey so that you don’t miss a single nuance of what I am writing to you. After you have finished reading it through, you will hold it in those soft and loving hands and stare at it with that pensive expression you possess at times. You will then put it back in it’s envelope as if it were God’s own words and store it in your box for letters and put it away.

In the darkness you will gaze out into the abyss of the night and then you will put your head down on the desk and you will cry in silence so that only the angels can hear you, begging for my safe return to you. Before God, I miss you and I love you to a degree that may not be allowed a mortal man, but I am unrepentant.

As I rode this lonely road home this morning, I stopped by a stream so that my horse could rest and have water. While we rested I spotted a daffodil, such as the ones you planted around the front of the house last year; I took it into my hands and thought of you with such intensity that I could not keep from weeping.

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