Going Fourth
Sweetest Darling,
While it has yet to reach a full week since your compelled seclusion has commenced it feels as if a fortnight has passed. The days blur as if that sultry green fairy, Absinthe, has befuddled my senses. The boresome monotony drives each day as an ambling octogenarian aimlessly ambling with no clear destination or purpose. Do I equally haphazardly wander through such a life, uncertain of who I am or where I travel? Have I been condemned to such an existence? Such ponderings fill me with melancholy as I am daily forced to turn my back upon the world, full of adventures and delights yet none for us as we huddle within our dwellings avoiding this infernal plague which has been beset upon us.
I find my days directed by the tyrannical fist of our progeny. Her demands are incessant and ceaseless. Her endless musings tumble from her mouth as the waters rushing from the mouth of the Nile. Her stomach seemingly bottomless as the boundless voids of space. She consumes, yet hardly a minute has passed before her cries of hunger and requests for further sustenance resume. I fear that such gluttony will become increasingly dire should further distance may be decreed by such authorities as they see fit to diminish the dangers we all face.
As the sun sets on yet another day of self-exile the promise of another rotation the monotonous wheel of isolation. The query: how long shall the wheel turn before release? Until we meet again I shall pine for your company. May your journey from our ground floor be short and without incident. Until then I remain your loving husband.
J.H. Berry
While it has yet to reach a full week since your compelled seclusion has commenced it feels as if a fortnight has passed. The days blur as if that sultry green fairy, Absinthe, has befuddled my senses. The boresome monotony drives each day as an ambling octogenarian aimlessly ambling with no clear destination or purpose. Do I equally haphazardly wander through such a life, uncertain of who I am or where I travel? Have I been condemned to such an existence? Such ponderings fill me with melancholy as I am daily forced to turn my back upon the world, full of adventures and delights yet none for us as we huddle within our dwellings avoiding this infernal plague which has been beset upon us.
I find my days directed by the tyrannical fist of our progeny. Her demands are incessant and ceaseless. Her endless musings tumble from her mouth as the waters rushing from the mouth of the Nile. Her stomach seemingly bottomless as the boundless voids of space. She consumes, yet hardly a minute has passed before her cries of hunger and requests for further sustenance resume. I fear that such gluttony will become increasingly dire should further distance may be decreed by such authorities as they see fit to diminish the dangers we all face.
As the sun sets on yet another day of self-exile the promise of another rotation the monotonous wheel of isolation. The query: how long shall the wheel turn before release? Until we meet again I shall pine for your company. May your journey from our ground floor be short and without incident. Until then I remain your loving husband.
J.H. Berry
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