Of Absinthe and Fondness

A case for misspelling.

Dearest Sara,

It has been a while since I put pen to paper and let the ink flow from my thoughts to yours. How do you fare? I hope that time in her infinite existence has favoured you with a smile and that fate, that dastardly wench has followed suit.

Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder has surely never tried absinthe. I think the phrase is a misspelling. I believe the poor fellow who penned it was surely talking about the liquor and not absence. For surely had they experienced absence, they would have realized that nothing fond ever grows from it.

But I could be wrong. The human mind is a fascinating maze. And just like a maze, if the walls are memories, then time, as she passes allows the overgrowth to soften the hard edges, to cover the scars and hide the bare walls behind a beautiful curtain of green. So perhaps it is true, perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder. But as a result of the dulling of memory and not a direct consequence of absence.

As such, one could argue that a good old bottle of absinthe might achieve the same effect. It checks all the boxes.

Green? Check. A direct effect of memory? Check Likely to make you grow fond? Check

See, Absinthe does make the heart grow fonder!

What is the point I’m driving at? You’ve probably uncovered this, Sara. None. None at all.

Just a long convoluted way of saying that I have missed our conversations. That the absence of these words has made me long to write to you. And that while a sentence could suffice to say this, I am plagued by verbosity, hyperbole and brevity all at once. And today, the two former are winners.

Once again, the ink shall flow, and I shall put my thoughts to paper. And hopefully, should the winds be fair and the affairs of men square, these words should find you there and plant a smile on your face.

Yours Always, Lawrence

#Absence #Love