Damaged winds

Dear Jane,

I had a dream about a broken wind breaking apart a tree, cut throughout its heart. The very inlaid depths of its soul, it caught me in a deep bit of panic.

The mad raven does a neat trick as I had done once, when I had dressed up as a fortune-speaker and riddled you with ideas of your present and future. My mad wife, as I call her, the mad raven, does a trick and tells me she is willing to let me go. That she will let me be free of this contract I had unwilling made so many years prior, and for a split second, like that split tree, I believe it.

I believe it and I run. I run and run and I think I’ll get back to you, my lady, my dearest Jane.

But she spouts out that hateful rhetoric about our relationship, of its frailty and of it’s simplicity. She mocks it yet she offers a cheap, stale appraisal for something she cannot possibly comprehend.

Is it just my own feelings of warmth and affection and deep friendship that guide me in our seemingly endless but short time together? I know you have told me you miss our talks, that you miss me, too. I truly wish to speak to you again so we may have clearer thoughts revealed. In either fashion, I only want you to have peace and to carry on your art, and be happy. I hope you are feeling this way, or at the very least, feeling better.

My dearest friend, I hope to knock down these tricks and finally cut down that twisted wind. And then, once it’s done, my tree can mend itself back into the mighty Oak, and I can be the man I am meant to be.

Love, Edward