Dear Richard,

We havent been spending much time together lately.  It's hard with the weather being so unfriendly.  Winter's come one month early with it's cohorts wind and rain.  It's just so cold outside, so I've been taking the bus a bit.  And Sam's been driving too.  I hope you understand.  While its fun sitting snug inside while the rain hits the glass and I get lost in my latest love (a book, a song, an imaginary life), it's just not the same without you.

Do you know how special you are to me?  When I get to missing London all I do is visit you.  I fix your flowers and remember our times spent by the canals and cobbled streets, in the sun and snow, with our friends or just the two of us.  Getting up to mischief.  Wandering.  Exploring.  Dreaming.  You know it's summer over there.  It's been more than a year since we left.

Winter has its own beauty though.  The leaves are rather beautiful.  Amber, red and burnt pumpkin, shades of rust and lemon, tossed together, strewn about like the remnants of some bygone celebration.  And what better excuse than a rainy day for cups of tea and crafting?  A trip up the mountain's on the cards too. 

Still, with winter being in charge now, with essays and readings and coffee making, reaquainting myself with needles and threads and planning winter weekends away, I haven't forgotten you.  I wanted you to know that. I think about you lots.  I've got plans for us, don't worry.  Tremendous, extraordinary, spectacular plans to get lost in, once winter's melted away.  We'll go searching for the wonderful.

And I promise, next time the sun comes out, we'll spend the day together.  Just you and me and Christchurch, the broken and the beautiful.

Yours truly,



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