Home again, home again.

[winterkoninkje]

I've returned from my excursion to the Eastern lands. A foul illness had taken me on the day I should've returned in the event you were concerned by my late arrival. It seems to be getting better, though I think I'll try to see a doctor just to be sure. Sweet Aubergine acts like he missed me, and looks to have put on some healthy weight since I departed.

Much transpired over the past fortnight, though I think I shall keep my own council for the time. On the whole the trip was good, was just what I needed, and any ills there were are more than balanced by the good. It's nice to return, for my time and my transit to be my own again. Nice to be in my own room again, my own bed. But without her here it seems cold and empty, hollow, and I cannot help but to think of other rooms and other beds and other comforts softer than these fresh flannel sheets.