Fridays (Friday Number Seven, September 29th, page 2 of 10)

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Now I enter my own domain, relax in my sofa-nest, and hear a world renowned composer play my every request while I slowly sip a sweet and pleasant concoction first brewed by monks eons ago. And, I look forward to my Friday evenings where I'll meet someone with whom I can confide the trivialities of my simple life. A friend; that term sounds nice, don't you think? If only it could continue.

"Just a friend?" Amy asks. "Do you truly believe these Fridays will just drift along?"

"I won't worry about that," I answer her. "Mr. Anderson isn't the first friend I have cared for and we survived after they were gone from our lives." I am in too pleasant a mood to let dark thoughts creep into my world. I try to chase Amy from my mind, but she persists.

"You won't admit how much you care for the man!" she shouts. I change the subject to another time as I begin to read Sarah's ancient letters.

As I promised myself I've renewed my perusal of this young woman's writings. I'm steadfastly peeking into her past, slowly getting to know this child of so long ago. The reading proceeds at a snail's pace as her penmanship takes much effort to decipher. While her spelling and grammar are impeccable, time has faded her words and careful study is necessary to discern the letters. I use a magnifying glass to decipher the small print, making sure I understand each word correctly. Sarah's style is terse with little excess verbiage so I am careful not to lose an important nuance.

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