Wishing, oh wishing.

Soon I will be frail. Pale and frail. Pallid and frail. Wan and frail. The second sounds best.

I am not delicate, really. Too round in the face, too broad by half. I look jointed- like a puppet. I am taller than she is.

I had a dream today, that I was watching a novel and in it at the same time. It was about smuggling children, for slavery, or else bottles of liquor. We were on a ship, or a room painted wood, and then we started to rock- me, and a man and someone else. We had to smash all the bottles.

I can only remember that much. It was Georgian or Edwardian. The bottles made shards all over the floor, and I was excited, and scared.

I wonder if you ever think of me. Slim to nil, the way I think of you, you beauty who never could love me. If you could love me despite all the causes.

If I was ill, you would be there. You would support me when I got up and tell me to eat and make me wear warm clothes, even if I protested that I was burning. You would take me out, to feed the ducks, in a comatose state.

All supposition, but I think it's true.