I was always heartened to awake in Temuair to find a letter delivered via carrier pigeon. Touched that someone cared enough about me or something we were mutually interested in to take the time to sit and write something. I began writing letters often, in hopes that others received the same feeling I did by finding a letter on their doorstep.
Those that I wrote letters to most often have moved on from Temuair. I miss their presence and think about them often, but I wish them well wherever they are dreaming now. Yet, I still write letters to them sometimes. Why? Maybe its because writing to them makes me feel connected somehow, even if they may never actually read them. All the same, the ritual brings me comfort and allows me to reminisce on old times when I sit daydreaming near the lake in Undine.
I would like to share a letter I wrote recently in hopes that it makes you think about writing to those you most care about.
Dearest friend,
My dreams of Temuair have been sparse for a long while now. It is such an easy thing to dream of other places and so tempting to forget life as an Aisling. I lose track and so much time has gone by that I think I may be done dreaming of Temuair at all.
Maybe it is that self assuredness that leaves me particularly vulnerable when I become lost and reach out for someplace of comfort... before I realize it I awake in this dream once again.
I was shuffling through the unorganized mess of our home when I came across a bottle left from your stash of Oren wines. I blink and I'm leaning up against the hearth with half the liquid in the bottle missing. I watch the far wall as the fire crackles and dances, filling the room with warmth and shadows of light.
I think about us for a while.
About those early days with Vendge, Mieri, Jherek, Kamshisha, and so many others. I can barely remember them, but I do remember you.. the rogue with the fiery red hair and the determined face. I still have no idea what you saw in the young, foolishly optimistic kid I was then.
I think about meeting you again after nearly one hundred and fifty years... same brilliant hair, same brilliant wit. You were a ghost from the past but so very real, I could never have imagined it. Our times on the beach, drinking in the tavern, and avoiding Merisa's snooping.
Then the bottle is gone and the fire grows dimmer. Perhaps that is our fate as well, to burn brightly every century or so and to fade away. If that is the case, I will look forward one hundred years from now when I can be captivated by your presence... and your hair... once again, my dearest friend.
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