Dear Julian, living with you is a perpetual renewal. You take to books, faces, films, music, in a vortex of likes and dislikes. Your mind is forever surfing, but you take in more than the appearance of people; you are still in a hurry, and for those who love you, it is a permanent wonder. 

But I want to stop you, to make you reflect, and filter those images that haunt you, dampen that appetite for the new, the rediscovery of the old, your passion for humankind and its history, for its wonders. For I cannot afford to lose you in that maelstrom; I have our lives, our love, to protect against the excesses of your imagination. For I know that the ghosts of your past are alive, somewhere, even if you wish to ignore them, or rather, ignore them for now. So, as your wife, I am not fearful, to the contrary. I am determined, and I am aware of my power, of my hold over you, Julian.

I know your thoughts; for me you cannot have any secret. For me, you are forever the naked lover who cannot hide anything. 

Yet, in the past days, I have sensed a presence, diffuse and shadowy, hovering around us. And I do not know if this is your creation, a creature born from the mist of your talent, or an alien form hunting for you. Is it alien to you? 

As we talk about the year to come, and sketch our plan for the summer, I sense your unease, your preoccupation. You would deny anything happened, but I know: something, something deep, is upsetting you. So, we talk about the future, and, for some time, you smile again.

Picture source: fineartamerica