I write to you, because you wrote to me.
Every year of my life you wrote. Simple stuff, silly stuff, stuff I couldn’t possibly share. Rare, and forgotten…and just for that briefest of moments, you are there. And so I write for you, to you, and maybe a way for you to perhaps write back thru me.
I went out today and bought scent and flowers…always your advice after bad times…scent and flowers. So I walked down the street, in this snazzy garage sale suede coat, to buy incense and flowers…of dried kind and liquid. You know, essentials…oh, what a trip. There is this beautiful old house, right in the village, tucked back in called “Heaven Scent”…and HALLELLYUA.
The walls are covered in all sorts of sense and sensations, and healing, and warmth…and I almost went aaahhhh. It was so relaxing and open, you would have loved it. Or maybe not. But I LOVED it. I bought this one that says “Helps reduce the negative and increase the positive aspects of all zodiac signs“…Made in India. $1.99. Love this stuff. Bought another I have ALWAYS loved called “Amber”…oh, so heady and musky – like a boggy dune.
And I realize now that all along, it’s to you I’ve really been writing, if I’m honest. Every story I tell, I tell because of you…and your gifts.
Don’t think I don’t know, I can almost hear your voice, feel your touch, your influence. Around me, I now surround myself with wisdom and life, so I won’t forget, again. I couldn’t possibly turn back now, eh? It’s gotta get better from here. But I’m in a good place, and I think for the first time, in a LONG time, you’d be very proud. Of us all.
I love you so, and miss you desperately. But life goes on, and so shall I. As always,
Your Fey One
P.S. She gave me a skipping rope, instead of these two other incense I had, strange. Yet kinda wonderful too? Like she knew me.
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