My dearest love,
After what seems like one eternity after another, we are finally destined to soon be together again.
And I could not be happier.
Now, I’m not going to pretend that things have been universally miserable since your last visit in mid-December; immediately after you left, I cast myself into a period of indulgence that pleased my soul no end, even though it was shrouded in denial.
I ate, I drank, I shopped, I bought things I didn’t need both for myself and for my loved ones. I allowed the carefree spirit of Christmas to envelop me, and sank into its festive bosom while shutting out the harsh realities of the passage of time.
But those harsh realities did, of course, catch up with me.
And once the short-term titillation had left my body, I began to realise with every passing day how far away you truly were; and how much I did so truly miss you.
I began to do awful things in your absence; things so far out of my character that I barely recognised myself.
I ate beans on toast for dinner two days in a row; I walked home from social events rather than hailing a cab; I skipped some social events altogether; I dabbled in the dark art of ‘instant’ coffee; and perhaps most shockingly of all, I brought a homemade lunch into work on a Friday.
On a Friday, my love.
Your prolonged absence truly did wreak havoc with my very existence, but let us not dwell on such sad, solemn truths.
Let us look to the future, and dream of this coming weekend, where I will demonstrate my love for you by virtue of sheer, shared indulgence.
I shall hail cabs for journeys where walking would have been quicker, and hire a cleaner even though my place is perfectly clean.
I shall stockpile on goods that I shall never use, on clothes that I will never wear, and on films I shall never watch; and banish forever the sense of frugality that forced itself upon me over these past weeks.
My love, I missed you dearly.
And I cannot wait to welcome you back.