For Shara, on my death
My dearest love,
I have failed you. But how? I brought you sacks of comberry, crates of fine clothes, and chests of gold. But still you spurn my affections. I killed the trader who robbed you and still you refuse me. I have sat by your house day after day, rain or sun, waiting for a hint of your affection, but to no avail. I grow weary of this life. Since you have not yet arrived here to meet me, I can only assume the worst - that I will never feel your soft arms around me or watch you sleep without having to fear the guards that now patrol your land.
Goodbye my darling. Think of me fondly and often. And without reaching for your knife.