Dear Rosalind:
My guardian angel.
I know you will not reply to this letter. You may not even receive it.
Only the Lord himself has a clue what has become of you (or
what shall become of me).
Nevertheless, on the off-chance I write.
It is likely I will never see you again.
Tomorrow, we (Willy’s circus band and me) set out on the
road.
I: lion tamer.
Willy has made us all sign forms in case we suffer injury or
death during the coming season, and since I have no next of kin (and don’t wish
to drag Charles into all this – he’s probably already disowned me anyhow since
I’ve been out of touch for nearly six months), I have put down your name.
Please forgive me if this is a great nuisance to you – I wasn’t
sure who or what else I could do.
And please forgive me for everything else.
I am only a human being - bones, skin and a harmful little brain - and I never asked to be born in the first place.
So the sun sets.
Yours eternally,
… free to roam once more.
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