NFTF: Further Missed Missives

[The following rests under a rock beneath the window of the room in which Veronica stayed at the Compound, after the disappearance of Torvald Mayberry. It is written hastily on high-quality resume paper which has been thoroughly rubbed down with white wax crayon after the ink dried, to attempt some form of waterproofing. Unfortunately, this area is watered nightly via automatic sprinkler drip and mist system. The missive is rapidly mildewing at the edges. More care should have been taken with its placement and water resistance, or less caution should have been employed in communicating with Veronica.]

Dear Veronica,

I'm not sure how to get this to you without waking you or alerting others to my presence tonight. And the                annot risk alerting anyone -- there are those among the good Rachels and Ezekiels of t                              een subtly, deeply affected by the darkness of Torvald Mayberry. They do not know i               y                e devastating action in the event of my appearance or any major forward movement o               t of                her Henrietta.

              his reason that I leave this note. I think I'll make some grunting noises outside your window ton               bble around in the rocks and ferns there; hopefully that works and you find this note before too lon               tain now that you haven't found several of my other missives, and                nch farther when I am               ch things have I seen, my love: pearly wisps of the last fog of the sleep of the dreamer Merlin, soup upset by baby dragons, clearer glimpses of lost kingdoms than ever afforded by shroo               in Huddart Park. 

I have yet to gain complete control of my abilities. But I am working on it, learning a great deal. It appears that my overall lifelong distraction and apparent inability to pay attention to the time has been                indication of a deeper sense of time than would be shown by your average cubicle donkey; I get immersed in a moment, and for me the moment stretches -- it becomes elastic and malleable, and               times when I have told you I was certain I left the house on time and, with the absence of traffic, ou               to have been right on time to pick you up (I know you're shaking your head right now, stop it! Th               true! I'm not using everything we've been through to excuse a decade of inattentiveness and a life               missed deadlines, I'm explaining the exact why of those things! Gah.) -- those times when I h               either late or, just as often, oddly early -- those are the times when I have essentially been stretching the boundaries of my time bubble.

Think of it this way: when you yawn and stretch, it feels good, right? So imagine your mind and soul yawning and stretching, and kind of clicking in and becoming so relaxed that they stretch a little outside the edg               our personal time bubble. Or, in some cases, they stretch the bubble itself. Different effects               as a result of the nature of the stretching (hence the early or late variable, as well as the certa               of 'lost time' I've told you about -- you may remember Josh Q. speaks of an instance of lost tim               well; is this a Piscean ability?), but what's clear is that, as every individual's time on this earth differs, so every individual's personal time bubble and resulting relationship to time is as individual a               fingerprint, eye color, or taste in neckties. Time is not a universal force, but rather a human me               ent of a universally individual experience which, as most of us seem to experience it similarly, seem               e whole to adhere to a linear appearance. And as a result, those of us who occasionally step outside, ins               through time are labeled madmen, crackpots and liars. 

But I am a Time Traveler. And this Time Traveler -- no matter how early or late he arrives -- loves you. And will arrive in time. Quite literally. That's a promise.


Yours,


Edward


PS, Max is                                  and he needs food.