O my soul, dearer to me than the light, your Goscelin is with you, in the inseparable presence of the soul. He is with you, undivided, in his better part, that part with which he was allowed to love you, that part which cannot be hindered by any physical distance. He salutes you in Christ with an everlasting greeting. See, his hand has touched us, with its all-discerning and all-disposing wisdom; and separating us for a time taught us higher purposes, namely that we may pant for that homeland and hurry to be reunited in that place where we cannot ever be separated again in all eternity. The farther he has separated us in body, the more inseparably he will refashion as a single soul what used to be one soul in two people. In the same way, long ago, the fountain of love himself sorely wounded the love of his disciples through his bodily absence; but he made their love flare up all the more splendidly in spiritual charity. Therefore, since your soulmate cannot and does not deserve to visit you in the flesh, he now seeks you out with anxious letters and long laments. God’s provident mercy has afforded us that consolation, that, though distant in space, we can be present to each other in faith and in writing. And these torments of separation, which I deserved through my crimes – a letter shuttling back and forth can reconnect us and keep us warm. Also, the tenacious page will speak more edifyingly than the fluid tongue. You have relinquished me and banished me from your sight, but your love will be able to see me in your reading and to take in my voice and my sighing words, using your eyes for ears. Therefore do not think me cut off from you. Whenever, thinking of me in Christ, you will deign to look at these my letters, you will believe me with you at Wilton, before our holy Lady Edith, sitting chastely by your side, speaking with you, admonishing you, consoling you, and with the languishing desire of a wounded love infusing your breast with Christ.

But see, as I was writing this, my sorrow swelled up and could not be repressed. My hand and my pen dropped; a moaning and sobbing overcame me.