the art of loving ; lord tewksbury

tewksbury's letter

Daisy,

  It took me exactly forty-five minutes to think of a starting line. It isn't even a good starting line, but you know I have never been good with words. That was your thing. You have always been the writer, not me. You love words. You love libraries. You love the smell of new parchment and the stain of black ink on your fingers. You love journals, both makeshift and leather.

  You love all those things.

  I think we can both agree I should stick to reading. But let us make this one time an exception, okay? Words never translate on paper the way I intend for them to, so please, bear with me.

  You must be wondering what we've all been up to lately, which is why I'm here to fill you in. The important stuff only, of course, because you most certainly don't have to know about my recent tendencies of tripping over my own two feet —which, by the way, is not my fault!

  Okay. Back to the point.

  Mother has made a brash decision to renovate our main staircase. Frankly speaking, it looks hideous, but I don't have the heart to admit it to her because she is head over heels for it. It is the only thing she's been obsessing over at the moment, apart from bugging with me new responsibilities now that I'm all grown up. To be honest, I think she's using it as a way to distract herself. I think part of her still feels guilty for what happened to you.

  On a brighter note, your book is doing fantastic! It took a while for Grant and I to find someone who was willing to publish it, but it was smooth-sailing once things were set in motion. You got your wish, Daisy! I just wish you could've seen it for yourself.

  Speaking of Grant, I know he's doing well on his end. The Pall Mall Gazette is constantly publishing articles about him doing good work for survivors of abuse. We've been keeping in touch a lot, but I think he would prefer to fill you in on his busy life himself, so hang in there.

  I found more of his sonnets, by the way. I'll leave one for you to read for yourself. Secretly.

  As for me, I have been doing all right. I always knew growing up would not be fun, but I did not think it would be this bad. Duty calls, whether I like it or not. But that doesn't stop me from jumping off more cliffs and diving into quarries. It is a special little place, isn't it? Our special little place.

  When things get a little too overwhelming, I think back of what you said on our trip there. All is well.

  I think of you a lot, actually. It's been weird not having you around. I would give anything to be able to hold you one last time. To see you smile, to hear you laugh, to tell you bad jokes and bicker with you and discover more special little places we can call our own.

  I found a daisy flower growing in the garden a few days ago. It was pretty, you would have loved it. I keep it pressed between the pages of my book so I can carry it with me wherever I go. I miss you more than I can ever tell you.

You and I were given three weeks to fall in love with each other. It seemed jarring at first, because you don't just throw love around without meaning. Love is something you cherish and hold close to your heart. Love is sacred.

You and I were given three weeks to fall in love with each other.

I fell in love with you in under two.

  I sincerely hope you are doing well, wherever you are. I believe you are doing well. And I promise you, I'll write more often. Even though it might take me another forty-five minutes to come up with a first sentence.

  Until then, Daisy Winters.

I love you forever and always.

With love,
Tewks

P.S. When the time comes for us to meet again, maybe we can finally have that baking lesson you promised me.