putting this in the running for heather hubler's 'write me a letter' challenge
56/787/14 (standard dating)
I suppose it isn't the worst thing, writing to you like this; I have often thought that to read someone else’s words in their own hand is to understand their soul. Of course, I like to think that I already understand your soul, but I suppose this will prove any doubts to the fact.
There are so many things I want to say to you. I can barely fit all these things within the page and I think that sometimes my head will go too fast for my hand, but I will write them for you anyway, because what is there to share if you are not there to share it with?
In my journey, I have become reminiscent of our own adventures, the two of us versus the universe, trying to capture as many beautiful things as we could. It feels so long ago, our days of running from galaxy to galaxy, yet I remember those days like a vivid dream.
The oceans on this planet—a pretty little thing on the outskirts of the Tsuranga Colony—has the most beautiful collection of suns. Do you remember the Aquila Cascades? I can see them so well, especially when I close my eyes, and this planet—they call it Serpens—is brighter still.
I can see the oceans, and they are so clear, Lover, so clear. I hope that you might see them someday, because I don't think I can do them any justice. Sometimes I convince myself that I can see all the way to the bottom of these seas, but I dare not reach my hand into this water, for the locals say that it is known for its trickery, and I am not brave enough to ask them what they mean.
Still, the sea is so full of mystery and I find myself fascinated by it. The beauty of this place is unfathomable. Every once in a while, just when I need it most, the universe reminds me that there is nothing so wild and ridiculous that cannot be found if you look hard enough. I wish I could capture the wonder of this place. But there is simply too much, a planet full of wonder. What more could you ever want?
We have begun preparing for the expedition, but it is slow going. The sub must be reassembled after our journey here and the natives took one look at our supplies and laughed out loud. They tell us that the sub must be soundproof; it must be impenetrable, because if we cannot hear the water, it cannot trick us.
In the days since we arrived, every afternoon has been riddled with storms, so even if we were ready to leave, the locals say it would be a death sentence. They tell us of this mysterious ocean, and I can barely keep my questions to myself.
I think I am amusing to them, with my curiosity and my wonder for everything they have to say. I don't mind, though, they have been so kind to me, to all of us and I would almost dare to call them friends already.
Even surrounded by these amazing things, sometimes it is difficult to imagine your face and the way you smile, but I find myself looking at anything, and somehow, I am reminded of you by everything.
I hope that you will get to read these words. Even more, I wish that I might say them to you. Still, imagining your face as I write them will have to be enough for now.
I like to think that you are missing me just as much as I am missing you, and I hope that maybe you will have your own words for me when we finally meet again. (Notice I use ‘when’ instead of ‘if’ .) I can almost hear your voice, calling me an optimist, but I think that as long as you are there, I will always believe in something.