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Love Letter from 18th Century

For my one and only

By SholaPublished 11 months ago 2 min read

January 14, 1812

My Dearest Love,

As I sit beneath the dim glow of the solitary candle, ink staining my fingers as though it were the very blood from my heart, I find myself torn between longing and despair. How cruel it is that distance and duty should conspire to keep me from you! Each passing moment is an eternity stretched thin by the ache of your absence, and my soul withers beneath the weight of it.

I have tried, my love, to be brave. I have told myself that love such as ours can withstand even the vastness of time and space. And yet, as the days grow long and the nights colder still, I am left wondering how the stars can shine so brightly when my world is cast in shadow without you. Do they not mourn our parting? Does the moon not weep for lovers torn asunder?

Do you remember, my darling, the last time we met? Your hand, trembling as it slipped from mine, the unspoken words lingering upon your lips, swallowed by duty and sorrow? I have relived that moment more times than I can bear, and still, it haunts me. Your eyes, those twin beacons of light and warmth, have burned themselves into my soul, and I fear that I shall never again find solace until I can gaze into them once more.I pray you do not suffer as I do. I wish you warmth in the cold, comfort in solitude, and peace in the knowledge that I am yours as surely as the tide belongs to the moon. If the Fates are kind, they shall see us reunited, and I will press you so close to my heart that even the gods themselves shall not tear us apart. But should they be cruel, should fate seek to deny me the sight of you again, know this—no power in heaven or earth could ever unwrite my love for you. It is stitched into the fabric of my very being, carved into my bones, and whispered in every breath I take.

Oh, my love, what torment it is to write these words, to pour my soul onto the page, knowing that it is but a shadow of my true affections. Would that I could abandon all and find you, to cast away the chains of duty and propriety and rush to your side. My heart is on fire! But I am bound, my love, as surely as Prometheus to his rock, and it is the cruelty of our time that holds me fast.

I beg of you, do not forget me. Keep my love close to your heart, as I keep yours with mine. If this letter should find you in sadness, let my words be your comfort. If they should find you in longing, let them be the bridge that spans the chasm between us. And if, heaven forbid, they should find you in another’s arms, let them be a ghost that lingers—a whisper in the wind that reminds you of the love we shared, a love that even death itself shall not silence.

Yours, now and for all eternity,

AncientFictionMedieval

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