Darling, I miss you.  It is spring time here and the Great Artist has covered the ground and trees with shades of pinks, reds and whites.  We could go for a walk together and capture some of those beautiful blooms and blossoms . 

I have kept Victor Hugo by my bedside, believing his vicious-looking snarl would deter any intruders.  Though his thoughts shine through the pages, the intelligent conversations do not flow.  And he never smiles at me.  I miss your laughter. 

Coffee and chats across the continents, once in the morning and again before going to bed, has eased some of the pain and aches of being physically far away from you.  Three weeks did not seem such a long time when we were planning these trips, but I felt it so keenly every day.  I miss my friend.  

 

You sent me bright pink spots of happiness and love at work last week.   A flower a day for the number of days before we are together again.  

I smile seeing them drooping and faded away now.  It can only mean your return.  

[i am not only miserable missing you, but living without a camera has been almost as devastating as going blind, sigh... grainy shots of the tulips, on the day you sent them, thanks to our lifecam]