To think that the planets might have been misguided when they let your star sign be my rise; they would never have guessed how in twenty years my sockets would confine sullen, sunken, eyes surrounded by darker spaces, recurring insomnia I try to hide. Worn-out clothes now, twice my size. You gave me the longest summer of my life.
I hate my voice booming static on the other end of the line. I miss all my old friends, and I can't figure out why I wait in my tower for a knight, but when at long last he comes I'd throw him out the window expecting him to survive.