30 octobre 1982
Next month, Sylvie would have been twenty-five years old. I still wonder what she would have done these past three years and I still miss her. You always miss those closest to you, I suppose. I think about her less these days, but I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. I think I am afraid that I will forget her one day. That is probably not likely, but it's still a concern.
I can't help but wonder what she would think of Tim. I hope that she would like him as much as I do. In a few months, we'll have lived together for an entire year. To me, that says something, but it would be incredibly inappropriate of me to initiate an arrangement like that.
Though dropping hints wouldn't hurt.
I suppose there are big plans for Hallo tomorrow for many people in England. That was one of the more charming things I found here when I left France. Everyone from the children to the bartenders make it magical and I suppose tomorrow night will be quite the celebration. I even find myself quite excited about it.
Seven months later, Tim's flat is nicely redone. It didn't need much, just some colour on the walls and a few decorative touches. Now, it truly feels like home. I never thought I would say that about anywhere in England. Time changes things, I suppose.