The faculties of her mind

"There will come a time when I'll forget you, and maybe even myself. Because what am I made of, but memories? Memories, they are what define us. Callous words, words of love, angry words, hurtful words, conversations held deep into the night, they will all be gone, carried away by the wind. And no one will remember who has spoken what. But these letters, they remain and will remain forever, if you guard them with care. Each word carefully crafted, each word laden with my entire being. There will be no need to fight over who had said what to whom, those first words of love to you, you will know even when you grow very old, that it was me who loved you first. And when I lose all my faculties, show these letters to me, so that I can remember once again that I had loved someone (you, of course) with such ferocity and with all the wild abandonment of youth."

Eleanor wrote furiously, tears threatening to spill and ruin the letter. She inhaled sharply and rested the quill on her desk. She needed to get out of the house, out into the sun, and into the woods. The woods always calmed her and put her in a pensive (not in a bad moody sort of way) mood. 

She knew it would not be long before she forgot where the woods were. It would not be long before she would forget who George was, who she was, and all that they had shared together. 

She was losing her memory piece by piece. It started six months ago, when she was taking her usual leisurely stroll in the woods and when she had decided to return home, she could not for the life of her, recalled which path to take. She was not lost, mind you. In fact she had taken the very same path for the last decade of her life. She fumbled in the woods for more than an hour before finally finding her way home. No one knew about this incident. 

A month later, she had forgotten the home address of Elizabeth. And then she had forgotten her own address. She would forget the name of the chambermaid who had been living in her house for the last two years. 

Hence now here she was, writing a letter to George. He was the one person she could not afford to forget. She did not want to forget that there once was someone she loved with all her heart. She folded the letter carefully and hid it under her pillow. She would give him the letter soon. She hoped she would remember to do so.