My darling Thomas :
I’m at work, nobody knows I’m writing to you here, you refuse my visits, so you’re probably tearing up my letters, too. but there’s nothing else I can do but keep trying. It’s beyond my control, do you see?
All those months ago, when I had nothing to lose, really. I wrote to you in my head. but was too cowardly to set more than lies on paper. And now, I find I no longer care.
The love I fell for you runs through me like grain through wood. I love you, Thomas. Your face, your voice, your touch. Enter my mind at the least opportune moments. And I find I have no power to withstand them, no desire to. I want us to be together, as we were in the cottage. Only forever, not just weekend. I want it to go on so long that it feels normal, I think of you constantly. your face, your breath on my neck at night. I want to do all the ordinary, un-bedroomy things. We never got around to do it. Making toast. Raking leaves. Sitting in silence.
I love you, Thomas. I’ve always love you, I see that now. Tell me I’m not too late.