A/N: Apologies to all for that slight slip in language in the previous chapter; I see what what all mean, and have modified it. That being said, on with the chap.
Chapter Seventeen
Oh, Christine.
You have changed me. In these past months, you have changed my life, even further.
I mean not to sound dramatic, but you and I, living this way, together, has done more for me than I could ever have imagined.
I pray that you feel the same.
From what I can tell, you do.
You come to me every night, whether it be to have me hold you, or surrender your body to me in the fullest sense of the word.
You spend time with me, otherwise, as well. We sing; we exchange stories; we speak quietly of our past, and our fondest memories.
We stroll near the lake; we discuss important matters, showing off our greatly varying opinions and points of view.
I create likenesses of you through paint and canvas, pencil and parchment, and even through music. You accept each piece as the highest form of flattery.
We live as most wives and husbands do, only better: we have a connection of our souls, that not many others can relate to.
Do you acknowledge this, Christine?
You seem to
and I love you for it.
But, Christine, I cannot live forever. . .
The happiness you have provided me with, has sustained me for this long.
In its absence, I would not have lasted this long, by far.
But oh, my heart and mind are healthy, but my body, growing older and older, is not.
I am dying, Christine.