Oh , hello , my Darling .
He ’ s always wet through when I see him . A feather of bones sitting in a puddle . Though , he never seems to notice or mind . My heart would stop if he did .
He never speaks . Just watches . I know he ’ s waiting for me . I ’ m sure it ’ s not long now , my Love .
He has Viking eyes . Silvery blue like ice . There are scars from the fishing hooks which loop round his fingers like white thread . Calluses bulge on his palms from rope and harsh weather . He ’ d let them peel while he was away . I ’ d treat them with creams when he got back ; he hated the smell and said fish guts smelled better .
The doorbell rang . I looked over at him ; his index finger was hovering over his cracked mouth . He shushed me , making murky water trickle from behind his teeth .