They told me that eventually I would get over losing you, that eventually I could live again.

And I thought they were right when it felt like the old wound had healed, over several months. I thought that it would always be slightly achy and painful, but I would be able to laugh again. And I nearly did. I was so foolish.

Then I went back into my official quarters for the first time again, and my heart was newly shattered. Everywhere there were traces of you- some of your things on my desk, your jacket draped on one of my chairs, small gifts from you on my dresser. I just wanted to burrow under the inviting covers of my bed and stay there, curled up, for the rest of my life. It seemed that nothing would ever be good again.

All because I lost you.

The rooms seemed too empty without your vivacious presence there to brighten my day. To make me smile. To secretly smile at me from across the Council chamber.

I fought back the tears until I was so exhausted I couldn't anymore, knowing that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. And I right- I couldn't stop.

I thought that I had put away that grief. I might have known it was too good to be true,

I knew I should have told you I loved you, but I was too scared, too timid. You would think that an Empath would be stronger. What we had was too tender to be put in words. i was terrified that if I did put it in word, it would dissipate and leave me all alone.

Looking back on it, it's worse to lose the one you love and don't tell them than the one you told. They can die peacefully, knowing how much you care.

I did tell it to your Wanderling.

And every night when I can't sleep because the wound in my chest tightens painfully, I go out with a light and sit under your tree, resting my head on its smooth bark. Already it looks like you, and it brings me comfort on those nights.

Sophie Foster is also soothing- I can feel my broken heart mending. Then my brain pictures you and how happy you would be and it falls apart again. Every time I go into the Council chamber, your empty chair stares at me. I can't go on without you.

"You're so tough, Oralie," Sophie says wistfully sometimes. I'm not tough. I have to be. Councillors are supposed to be role models, and I can't cry in public. So I skip the meetings and just stay at home. Occasionally someone will come to ask how I'm doing. I never respond. They already know.

I'm not really living. I'm waiting, wishing, praying.

I can't wait to see you again- soon, I hope.