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My darling, I am waiting for you.

How long is a day in the dark?

Or a week?

The fire is gone now and I am horribly cold. I am afraid I'll waste the lamp's light while I'm writing these words.

We die.

We die rich with lovers and tribes.

We die with tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have entered and swum up like rivers. I want all this marked on my body. The way of the real countries, not the boundaries drawn on maps, the names of powerful men.

I know you'll come carry me out into the palace of winds. That's what I've wanted. To walk in such a place with you. With friends... An earth without maps.

The lamp's gone out. I am writing in the darkness.

Good bye, my love.