The Flowers of our youth.

My Dear Anne,

How often I’ve thought of you in the past few months. How I’ve longed for your presence at my side once more. Your wedding day while beautiful was one of the worst days of my life. For my oldest and dearest friend was to go away, with a man her father picked out.

I know we couldn’t have ever stayed in the garden forever. But I long for the simple summer days of our youth. For the golden hours of dawn and dusk. Which matched your eyes so well.

I know you think me silly Anne. But truly, I shall never marry. While I love my Papa, he could never pick someone I should ever hope to love. It would be a hopeless marriage from the start and no matter how it is spun. I could never grow to love a man. Not even if he promenaded with my ever Sunday, let me have garden of my own, or allowed me such fancy dresses. No amount of books, flowers, or sweet words could change this for me Anne. I simple can never be a wife.

And it breaks my heart, that you have become one so soon. We are hardly at the age of spinsters, and still so close to that of girls. Oh Anne, it is not proper of me to think this way. I know how you would chastise me. It is a lady’s duty to marry well. Especially a lady with young sisters who will one day benefit from such a favoritable match. One that will provide enough to keep us in blissful luxury.

But I am not like you Anne. And if I do not confess my feelings to you. I would die unhappy woman. Something perhaps worst then a unhappily married woman. For if my mother has her way. I’ll be wed within the year. It is her duty. My dear mama, a matchmaker and entertainer. How unlike the two of us are. But I shall not wonder into more. Otherwise I shall run out of ink before I can confess this to you.

Anne, my heart yearns for you. To have you near me always. And I do not mean in the way females long for softer company. While I have joyously named you my dearest friend. I must confess that I have loved you from a far. And I selfishness wish you would come back to me. Though you are only a four days journey, the new distance feels endless. You are no longer down the road. I cannot walk to your door and find you in the parlor. Or hear your delicate fingers play the pianoforte.

Anne, you must forgive me of course. But I cannot help myself. I would write poems of you if I could. Beg my father to pay your speedy if it meant we could have a cottage by the sea. But I couldn’t never begin to ruin you. I am hopeless. And while I could handle being shunned by society. I know your heart longs for dances and parties. I have watched you enjoy yourself at such parties. I have envied suitors who fill your dance card. For I would dance with you at ever turn. And not just behind heavy curtains and down hallways as girls do.

I wish to dance with you properly Anne. To hold you gloved hand in my own. I know I could trust my feet to lead us in tune. All so I could stare deeply into the golden depths of your eyes. For unlike what your husband has said Anne, your eyes have never been just brown. They have always held the sun within them. As though the gods themselves poured sweet honey into you. And I am but a bee. Drawn to your side. At the promise of such sweetness.

It is why I long for our garden so much Anne. To see the sun sparkle once more as it hits your eyes. To pluck bright red flowers and weeve them in your yellow hair. For you deserve the deep sensation of red over the soft folds of pink. You are a fire to my soul. A burning that has left me cold and longing the day you went away.

Anne, I know it is a long journey. I know Ladies do not come back to visit so soon. And truly I should come to you. But Anne, I beg you. If you ever loved me at all. I must see you one last time. And I want to see you in the garden. For it is the only place we could truly be ourselves.

The place where we always held one another’s hand when we spoke of our secrets. And confessed our deepest of thoughts. Where you touched me in ways I never thought possible. The place in which I thought I dreamed of your petal soft lips slowly tracing down my neck. And your hands trailed down my hair. Where your cold finger tips painted pictures on my body. And you told me you did not wish to marry him.

Please Anne. Even if just to say no. To see you once more. It would leave it alone if you would come to even say no. But you must come Anne.

I know it is foolish to think we could run off. We have nothing of our own. But there must be some way Anne. For you I would do anything. I would marry a man. If it meant I could be by your side. If it meant that out in a garden under the moonlight, you’d trace your hands down my spine. And place your lips against me.

I am at your mercy. I am in your control. What ever you desire I will gladly give it to you Anne.

For my heart has always been yours. And I could never forgive myself if I did not confess it now. I am yours Anne.

Please let me be yours too.

Ever yours

Emily.