( It's the second paper, the quote, of course, that she isn't expecting. That she holds behind the letter, between her two next fingers, half distracted by it the whole time she's skimming the letter itself. Half-distracted from the one, by the other. Not on newsprint. Copied from something. The second in so few things to be something that isn't just a letter. And is she supposed to ignore that? Take it as some change?
Allison's heart seizes, confusion stripping it raw, by the time she hits the second sentence of the carefully folded section Luther has pulled out of a book and inserted without comment, rhyme, or reason mentioned anywhere. Her skin tightening and prickling at the words there. The image of a closeness undeniable not defined by space, or time, or nearness. Before it got to the demands of what to bring to the blank page.
The one she sat down to each time she wrote him. They wrote each other. It felt almost too electric, too bare a commentary. )
Dear Luther,
For the life of me, if anyone ever throws a drink in your face, you owe me that story. I will not be able to continue living without it. I can't even picture it, and at the same time, now I can't stop trying to figure a way in which that could happen somehow. Unless you've somehow changed entirely in the last two years, you're just so sweetkindthoughtfulunabbrasive polite, and that's rarely what makes that happen.
Which makes it all the more hilarious and hard to let go of now.
I managed to score an unexpected free day off the week after our birthday, and the girls and I did head to San Francisco and take the Napa Valley Wine Train for one of their full package 'Estate Tours.' It was different. Due to our numbers, we got around the thing where they apparently mix groups together until every table on the train has four people.
It was all plush padded seats, and big clear windows to watch the vineyard that you're traveling through the whole time, and a four-course meal spread out before and after three different winery stops. The food was great, and the visits were fun enough, and I did find one or two things I liked. There's so much more to it out there than I had any clue about. It's everything to those people.
Also, there's this time called "The Magic Hour" in Napa, or at least on their train, that happens an hour before sunset, where everything glows. The mountains turn all golden yellow from the sun just sinking behind them, and clouds go pink, and it turns the grapes this golden-green. It was charming to watch as we headed back the way we came on our return ride.
Your quote has had me thinking since I opened your last letter. I'm pretty sure you'll agree I've never done anything lightly since the first time I managed to open my mouth, but I definitely haven't had a reason to write this much for any reason since getting ou leaving the Academy. So, I guess there's to something new and different for twenty-one, too.
no subject
Allison's heart seizes, confusion stripping it raw, by the time she hits the second sentence of the carefully folded section Luther has pulled out of a book and inserted without comment, rhyme, or reason mentioned anywhere. Her skin tightening and prickling at the words there. The image of a closeness undeniable not defined by space, or time, or nearness. Before it got to the demands of what to bring to the blank page.
The one she sat down to each time she wrote him. They wrote each other.
It felt almost too electric, too bare a commentary. )
For the life of me, if anyone ever throws a drink in your face, you owe me that story. I will not be able to continue living without it. I can't even picture it, and at the same time, now I can't stop trying to figure a way in which that could happen somehow. Unless you've somehow changed entirely in the last two years, you're just so
sweetkindthoughtfulunabbrasivepolite, and that's rarely what makes that happen.Which makes it all the more hilarious and hard to let go of now.
I managed to score an unexpected free day off the week after our birthday, and the girls and I did head to San Francisco and take the Napa Valley Wine Train for one of their full package 'Estate Tours.' It was different. Due to our numbers, we got around the thing where they apparently mix groups together until every table on the train has four people.
It was all plush padded seats, and big clear windows to watch the vineyard that you're traveling through the whole time, and a four-course meal spread out before and after three different winery stops. The food was great, and the visits were fun enough, and I did find one or two things I liked. There's so much more to it out there than I had any clue about. It's everything to those people.
Also, there's this time called "The Magic Hour" in Napa, or at least on their train, that happens an hour before sunset, where everything glows. The mountains turn all golden yellow from the sun just sinking behind them, and clouds go pink, and it turns the grapes this golden-green. It was charming to watch as we headed back the way we came on our return ride.
Your quote has had me thinking since I opened your last letter. I'm pretty sure you'll agree I've never done anything lightly since the first time I managed to open my mouth, but I definitely haven't had a reason to write this much for any reason since
getting ouleaving the Academy. So, I guess there's to something new and different for twenty-one, too.Allison