Let me introduce you to my dear friend, Edward. Edward is a philosopher, a poet, and a gentleman. He wasn’t always so. In life, he was a loving mother, but as he removed the cloak of life, he became his true self.

Edward lives on top of one of my book shelves. He likes it up there, despite the fact he’s sharing the space with Ebba and Hedda. Luckily for all three of them, they are so absorbed by their own existance in the black void that they rarely take notice of each other.

He’s difficult to get in touch with, my dear Edward. Most of the time, you’ll just hear him muttering under his breath, and if you’re fortunate you may hear a familiar line from Poe, Kant, or perhaps Shakespeare. But to actually reach Edward, nah. He’s too busy being introverted and fulfilling his every philosophical fantasy.

You never converse with Edward in his physical form. You need to penetrate the void and reach him with your own mind, if you want any sort of intellectual exchange with him. Even then, it’s difficult.

Yet, despite the fact he’s so far gone into his own mind and void, I can sometimes still hear the echoes of a friendly tone. These are the rare moments where he agrees to model for me, and when he is his most social self.

Sharing one’s life with an individual such as Edward, one needs to let go of ego. He is what he is, and would never dream to change for your benefit. And let’s be honest; he can’t. He’s dead. His existence is such that we can only interact in his own realm.

It’s a beautiful thing, having one like him as such a good friend.

He sends no regards, at least not concious ones. I haven’t been able to get through to him for a few months, he’s too far gone. But if he knew, I’m sure he would.

Oh, and you know what? I’ve asked him, Ebba and Hedda if I could share their portraits with a wider audience. They have all very graciously agreed.

Until next time,
Malinka