George, I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much that it hurts. I miss you more than it is possible sometimes. And I miss you less sometimes too, but most of the time I miss you. I miss your smell, your logic and I miss your intelligence, like today when Helen asked me if I knew where Hong Kong actually was, my best guess was China, but I really don't know. You would have known the coordinates, wouldn't you? Because you are very smart, George. Yes, much smarter than I ever was, though none of us was really that smart at all in the end. We just pretended we were. I don't know what to say now. I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you George. Because I do, you know. A lot.
Your Albert
George smiled at the adorable letter, so typical Albert. He had never been a Shakespeare, Albert. If George remembered it correctly Albert always angered their english professor. (who himself had rather talk about cricket than Shakespeare) He got up, made himself a cup of tea and began to scribble on a answer to him.
My dearest Albert, your letter, even though short, makes makes me happy. I miss you too. I miss you just as much as you do me, maybe a little bit more, be sure of that, Albert. It hurts to be away from you, but haven't we gotten used to it by now? My days are just going slower and slower. I tend to the garden, it looks wonderful, the flowers survives Albert, can you believe that? I have learned how to cook better now to. I can even bake, Albert. I can bake, cookies and bread and all those things. Like a woman, but not as good as one of course. (there is something about woman that makes her food divine) I will turn 56 soon, as you probably remember. How did you do it, how did you not lay down and cry when that happened? I am about to, and Charles just keep reminding me about it. Asks me what I want, if I am going to have some sort of party. Silly boy, he should focus on his education. I have an answer to the question I asked you before I started rambling on about food and fear of growing old and senile. I can never become used to be without you. I will never become used to be without you. Never. We are like the great friends from an greek play, kept a part for such a very long time. But a play is so much shorter than life itself. If you want to give me anything for my 56th birthday, then just let me meet you again. Let's meet somewhere, I can come to London, just for a weekend.
Your friend, George
Albert kept all of the letters in a little drawer, in a shoebox in his wardrobe. Every time he opened that box the whole room smelt like Maltravers. It was an overpowering scent, that he caressed and loved dearly. He only let it our once in a while, but when he did... oh, he would go mad. He had hurried to answer him, but couldn't help to think that his writing was horrible. He was not made for writing and such, like Maltravers were. He wasn't nearly as good at choosing words as he was.
George, Don't worry to much, we aren't getting older, just closer to something new. Or the end, but something new sounds better. I don't think I can express how happy I would be if you came to visit me, believe me I have tried almost a hundred times to do so the latest hour. Please come down to London, or we could meet somewhere else. I just want to see you again, as I said before, I miss you so much. Please come, I need to see you, and want to see you of course. As a roman emperor would have said if he was to be 56 years old: D IZZY TJP, IZZY OJ CJGY TJP, VIY OJ FDNN TJP VBVDI. VIY OCZI D IZZY TJP OJ HVFZ GJQZ OJ HZ. I hope my greek isn't to rusty, old bean.
Re: Unprompted: Blenkinsop/Maltravers - They Owe Us A Life 16a/20
George,
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much that it hurts. I miss you more than it is possible sometimes. And I miss you less sometimes too, but most of the time I miss you.
I miss your smell, your logic and I miss your intelligence, like today when Helen asked me if I knew where Hong Kong actually was, my best guess was China, but I really don't know. You would have known the coordinates, wouldn't you? Because you are very smart, George. Yes, much smarter than I ever was, though none of us was really that smart at all in the end. We just pretended we were.
I don't know what to say now. I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you George. Because I do, you know. A lot.
Your Albert
George smiled at the adorable letter, so typical Albert. He had never been a Shakespeare, Albert. If George remembered it correctly Albert always angered their english professor. (who himself had rather talk about cricket than Shakespeare)
He got up, made himself a cup of tea and began to scribble on a answer to him.
My dearest Albert,
your letter, even though short, makes makes me happy. I miss you too. I miss you just as much as you do me, maybe a little bit more, be sure of that, Albert. It hurts to be away from you, but haven't we gotten used to it by now?
My days are just going slower and slower. I tend to the garden, it looks wonderful, the flowers survives Albert, can you believe that? I have learned how to cook better now to. I can even bake, Albert. I can bake, cookies and bread and all those things. Like a woman, but not as good as one of course. (there is something about woman that makes her food divine)
I will turn 56 soon, as you probably remember. How did you do it, how did you not lay down and cry when that happened? I am about to, and Charles just keep reminding me about it. Asks me what I want, if I am going to have some sort of party. Silly boy, he should focus on his education.
I have an answer to the question I asked you before I started rambling on about food and fear of growing old and senile. I can never become used to be without you. I will never become used to be without you.
Never.
We are like the great friends from an greek play, kept a part for such a very long time. But a play is so much shorter than life itself. If you want to give me anything for my 56th birthday, then just let me meet you again.
Let's meet somewhere, I can come to London, just for a weekend.
Your friend,
George
Albert kept all of the letters in a little drawer, in a shoebox in his wardrobe. Every time he opened that box the whole room smelt like Maltravers. It was an overpowering scent, that he caressed and loved dearly. He only let it our once in a while, but when he did... oh, he would go mad.
He had hurried to answer him, but couldn't help to think that his writing was horrible. He was not made for writing and such, like Maltravers were. He wasn't nearly as good at choosing words as he was.
George,
Don't worry to much, we aren't getting older, just closer to something new. Or the end, but something new sounds better.
I don't think I can express how happy I would be if you came to visit me, believe me I have tried almost a hundred times to do so the latest hour. Please come down to London, or we could meet somewhere else. I just want to see you again, as I said before, I miss you so much. Please come, I need to see you, and want to see you of course.
As a roman emperor would have said if he was to be 56 years old: D IZZY TJP, IZZY OJ CJGY TJP, VIY OJ FDNN TJP VBVDI. VIY OCZI D IZZY TJP OJ HVFZ GJQZ OJ HZ.
I hope my greek isn't to rusty, old bean.
Your Albert