12 Steps to Portia
November 12
Dear Portia,
You know those days when you enjoy doing nothing at all? As unproductive as it sounds, you actually accomplish bits of stars in your own sky. Today would be one of those days. I'm partially freezing to death, partially craving for a mug of hot chocolate your aunt used to leave on the table, partially missing the slow summer days. Those days when fanning warm air slightly burned your cheeks, and we flushed all day with the hot sand burning our soles.
I don't know.
I'm outside right now. It's funny, I can see my own breath in this air. You know what's even funnier? Charlie peed in his pants this afternoon in the car. He rushed out, and his pants froze midway! I know, it's revolting. I'm sorry. But he sort of misses you. He was staring at your lawn the other day from his window, he wanted to tell you the story himself. So when he comes rushing to you sooner or later, just nod respectfully and laugh until your tears dribble down your chin. I never sent you this letter.
Anyway, I asked you what you wanted for Christmas last week. I guess you haven't made your mind up, so I'm going to send you a surprise. You love surprises. Don't expect anything too far fetched, though. Like a dog, don't expect something like that on your doorstep.
I've been practicing lately. All day, actually. My fingers end up covered in red, thick skin and the ink blotches my shirt. Everything about your absence makes me want to try a little bit harder. Not to brag, or anything, but I'm pretty sure I'm twice as good as I was back then, last summer. Well, I have to go now.
Sincerely,
Carrick
You know those days when you enjoy doing nothing at all? As unproductive as it sounds, you actually accomplish bits of stars in your own sky. Today would be one of those days. I'm partially freezing to death, partially craving for a mug of hot chocolate your aunt used to leave on the table, partially missing the slow summer days. Those days when fanning warm air slightly burned your cheeks, and we flushed all day with the hot sand burning our soles.
I don't know.
I'm outside right now. It's funny, I can see my own breath in this air. You know what's even funnier? Charlie peed in his pants this afternoon in the car. He rushed out, and his pants froze midway! I know, it's revolting. I'm sorry. But he sort of misses you. He was staring at your lawn the other day from his window, he wanted to tell you the story himself. So when he comes rushing to you sooner or later, just nod respectfully and laugh until your tears dribble down your chin. I never sent you this letter.
Anyway, I asked you what you wanted for Christmas last week. I guess you haven't made your mind up, so I'm going to send you a surprise. You love surprises. Don't expect anything too far fetched, though. Like a dog, don't expect something like that on your doorstep.
I've been practicing lately. All day, actually. My fingers end up covered in red, thick skin and the ink blotches my shirt. Everything about your absence makes me want to try a little bit harder. Not to brag, or anything, but I'm pretty sure I'm twice as good as I was back then, last summer. Well, I have to go now.
Sincerely,
Carrick
♠ ♠ ♠
It gets better :)