Letter to Ami

How can I write to you without trembling? My hand falters, though my heart burns to confess what I have kept locked away. I am not writing to speak as your steadfast friend, but as the lover I am destined to be, the one I have no right to be.

This longing is a torment unlike any other. It is as though the heavens and hells conspire to mock me, allowing me glimpses of joy I dare not reach for. You have taken me, body and soul, and I am lost, wandering as one does in the fog, knowing only the faintest light of your presence to guide me.

I speak now of the forbidden. I speak now of the desire that has haunted my every breath since that summer by the lake. What cruel fate placed you so near, yet forbade me to hold you as I long to? What silent pact with the stars must I break to claim your lips again, as I once did under the guise of a “practice” kiss?

Do you recall the way you held me that night? You believed my tears were for those I had turned away, those suitors who saw nothing of me beyond the shallow mask I wore. But no, Ami, my tears were for you, for the truth I could not share: that my heart is yours alone.

Since then, nothing and no one has mattered. I have turned away countless prospects, cold to their advances, for how could they hope to rival the flame you ignited? How can I even breathe when every breath tastes of longing for you?

I have heard you left for the city, viola in hand, seeking the kind of freedom I have only dared to dream of. Do you play still? Do your fingers caress the strings with the same tender precision I have dreamed of on my skin?

If I do not hear from you, Ami, I fear I shall crumble beneath the weight of this silence. I am bound by my love for you, chained by it, as surely as the sun is bound to rise. Yet even the sun finds release in the dark. I ask you, I beg you: grant me a glimmer of hope.

Forever yours,

Sara