Matching script lettering tattoos with a heart

The officer at Ashby Crossing read my passport twice this morning, then eyed the envelope in my coat as if it might be contraband. It is only this letter, the one I failed to post on Tuesday because I could not decide between the Queen's stamp and the old lion. I chose the lion. The envelope has gone soft at the corners from three days in my pocket, so you will have to forgive it.

Mrs Okonedo at the village post office says the van only runs on Thursdays now, so I will walk this to the box myself. The lane floods by the mill. My boots filled with cold water and I laughed out loud at the fence, which I have not done since you left. I think the men at the depot thought I had gone soft in the head.

I found the ticket stub from the ferry, the one we split on the way over. You wrote on the back of it, remember, while the boat rocked: I love him, til the tide turns us both. You said it was a joke. I kept it anyway, and I have been turning it over on the platform every evening, reading your handwriting under the lamp until the ink blurs.

So here is my answer, the one I should have written on the boat. I love her, and I will say it at every crossing we are made to wait for, until the ground gives out or the officers finally run out of questions. Write back to the poste restante in Ashby. Tell me the weather on your side. I will know the sky is the same by the way you describe it.