20:31   01/11/2020

To my dear…

I still write to you. What a damned shame. But what can be done. I have but no one else to write to. What’s more preposterous is that I know you won’t ever read my letters. I don’t want you to. I don’t need you to. So please, don’t find your way back to my words. A man cannot bear the thought of placing his heart in your hands ever again. And besides, that is not your duty. Nothing is your duty, my darling. We men are the ones who should swear our duty to you. An angel.

And yet, still, I write. Maybe because my quill is only ever this comfortable for you. You’re the only true audience that my pen knows. Maybe because you were my only one true audience in the days of old. My quill has danced for others. It has tried. But each new dance felt strenuous. Unnatural. The flow would feel like attempts of creativity, whereas writing to you was just freedom. I do hope the others who have had the chance to enjoy my quill’s dance, do genuinely enjoy the art. I put my heart and soul into my words. They’ll get nothing less. But it doesn’t mean my quill doesn’t long to write for you again. It feels what it does because it knew it wrote for you. But, of course. Nevermore.

And so, as I write, let’s not confuse my quill and tell it that it can never write to you ever again. That would be cruel. Instead, let us let my quill feel as if it still has the special honour to write letters to an angel. Let’s give my quill the motivation it needs to dance freely. Let’s instil the idea that it can still write specifically for you, my darling. The format it knows best when it comes to heart felt matters. Let’s let my quill dance. And let it believe it is still dancing for you, when you and I both know the truth.

I don’t know if my last letter set a good tone. All I wanted to say was that I am a free man, and that it was troublesome to be free when nothing else was. Most folk will have trouble processing loads of information. But I’m writing to you, my darling. And I know you have no trouble in dealing with loads of different information. We are, of course, scholars. It is our language. And so I hope you enjoy whatever nonsense I write you, even though you wont read my writing.

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I’ve had an interesting week. I had the usual meat and mead with Mable on Thundalux. And as I’ve been beginning to enjoy, we enjoyed ourselves some stogies. It was the first time Mable and I smoked a toro. But the size was a pleasure. It meant our relaxation flowed longer than a bell. Something all men should appreciate. But these stogies are much too luxurious for our budget. Here in the Star Country, we pay tenfold as much coin for them than the rest of the worlds do. All because of the damned death sticks. A damned shame. Stogies and death sticks get piled into the same category. Silly, because they do completely different things. I understand the trouble, especially of death sticks. But it’s foolish to categorize them the same. It makes it harder for true refined men to enjoy what is rightfully theirs.

The next day was a beautiful one for me. I spent time with Venato, Temagin, and Varia. It had been too long since I had connected with any of them. And yet even after so long, nothing between us all had changed. Well, of course, that’s how I always treated others. I don’t let time change how I feel about another. Especially with the brothers. So, in a sense, I already knew everything was going to be pleasant with them. And I’m sure they knew the same. We are all brothers. And we had all earnt our place. No amount of material-world noise would ever change that. That evening, we enjoyed ourselves our poisons. And even while we were already heavy in our cups, the brothers and I ventured out to other places. We didn’t care. It was lovely to know that we still shared that honest trust, and held faith in each other, no matter where we were. I think the brothers were so happy to find out that their souls were still in my embrace. But you know me. Nothing much has changed. I think that’s one thing you’ve always hated about me. The fact that I put so much value into others, even more than I put into myself. But I cannot help that. I always pay homage to the very people I grew strong with.

I picked up certain things that the brothers were trying to share with me that night. They didn’t exactly put it in words, but I could feel it. When I told them about how everybody is always still dear to me, I saw it in their expressions. They needed me to do what I do best. They needed their brother to wear that heart they all love.

The next day I reconnected with another one of the brothers. We had always kept in touch in other means, but the virtual space would never compare to face-to-face. And so, me, Tav’, and Warren spent time with Embross. It was good to see him live and well. I think the plague and its drawbacks had beaten down on most people. But his energy was fine.

We enjoyed our poisons, of course. I think they tried to coax me into song. But I was worried I’d be too loud. Congested estates were not always the best places to let my music play. Or maybe I was just too shy. That’s something I need to work on again. Singing, even if I’m going to get told off for being too loud. Damned neighbours and their complaints! My old neighbours I mean. You should remember what I’m talking about. Were you there at the time? I don’t remember if you were around when I used to be loud, and then the world shut me up. But I’ve always been hesitant to sing since then. I need to work on that.

I’ve been checking in with Valentina lately. I guess since now that I’m allowed. And I’ve come at a good time, as well. It seems she hadn’t been around some real soldiers in a while. Just regular lambs with loose morals. A shame. I don’t know. I’m just doing what I need to do.

Next week might be more messy. I’m excited and worried. I made a call out on social media. The call out was about the only sport I prevail in, and how nowadays barely anyone is game. A big mistake. The folk that responded were my seniors at this very sport. Veterans. Those I used to always lose to, but pushed me to be stronger. I may have to face them next week. I made the call. And they answered. And now we will see if a man can truly handle his cups. We will see.

For now. I’ll keep my quill dancing. I’ll be sure to wear that heart we all need. And I’ll prepare for the end. The call out was a bad move. I don’t think the big brothers will let me off easily. Oh well. Strength and Honour!

Love from yours truly

Daniel Roy