Christian thought about the things James had said before he left. They had been dropped like a weight off the deck of a ship, immediately plunging Chrisitan into the sea, and every night after pulling him deeper and deeper into the darkness. He felt as though everything he had wanted to say would have been lost in the wind that night; those violent sweeping winds that do indeed blow up between friends-more often between enemies and rivals. What would Christian say now, probably nothing different; it isn't James he needs to reach anyways, it's her. He reads and rereads her letter to James, why can't he understand it? Perhaps one can not translate the heartbeat of one other than his own, and then it made sense, why she understood the words that pounded from his rivals chest but could no longer hear his own.
October would come too soon for Christian.
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