Letter one hundred and three - Day two hundred and ninety of your vacation

Dearest J,

Someone asked me this morning if I've thought of moving out of this place.  I said no, I want to stay here.  This is a good place.  It lingered at the tip of my tongue that also because you had bought this place with me because you wanted to give me this home.

I played with Thursday in the hall for a bit, sitting on the white and pristine tea table.  Sometimes Thursday reminds me of you, this senese of eternal innocence, what you two have in common.  Not forgetting that she's mostly white, like you, always mostly in white teeshirts.

Things have been good with me, never a dull moment.  I guess one can say, I have learned to get on without you pretty nicely.  It seems that I have, or life has, filled up my void with all these exciting endeavours.  We still talk about you a lot, these days a lot like as if you're still around, just around the corner, waiting for the next plane to come home.

I never saw the bikers since last year.  My ears literally still turn whenever I hear a superbike near me.  I saw a Repsol bike parked in town the other day, also orange colour.

A picture for you...this is my little corner I rented in The Wedding Hub as a little marketing investment.

Time to get off my chair and put on my `showgirl' face for tonight's gig.

Lots of love,

B