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One Thing At A Time...
Crikey, I've just realised how long it's been since my last journal entry. So much for keeping this one up to date huh? I guess I should try and sum up the last few weeks, so that this diary at least makes some kind of sense when i'm an old wrinkly, looking to reminisce...
Well, there isn't really all that much to tell. I've spent most of it tucked up in bed, whilst convincing myself it wasn't flu and that I was in fact, dying [I really am a wimp]. I was all set to go to England and then true to sods law; I got sick. So Robert was left to sort out his own mess... I haven't heard from him since. I'm still packed though, my suitcase still neatly tucked away beneath the telephone table in the hallway. And I would have already been booking myself on the next flight out of here if it wasn't for Elias' letter.
Yeah, that's right... Elias. I got a letter from him yesterday. In it he told me how much he liked me, about his feelings and that he was somewhat scared by them. It was nice, really nice, hearing him say all those things and a little scary too-even though it's what I wanted to hear. And would you believe it, he's wound up in Cuba of all places; well going by the postmark on the envelope. I wonder what he's doing over there? The name on the return address wasn't his either-Why wouldn't he have just used his own name? He's as bad as Robert, with his letter, telling me to keep it to myself... especially the envelope. I'm beginning to feel a bit like i'm in an Agatha Christie novel. Maybe it's just my overactive imagination, but it all seems to be getting a tad cloak and dagger.
Anyhow, I sent a letter back. Telling Elias the ball was in his court and to "come and find me" [how stupid does that sound?]. At least if i'm here though, in Molokai, he'll know where to find me. So, that's why i'm not going to go to England-at least not just yet.
I'm no Miss Marple, I can only handle one mystery at a time...
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