𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖔 • ᴛᴀᴇᴋᴏᴏᴋ

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈. Patience & Pain

A strong belief in his love was what kept the writer continuing doing fine even with a major distance between him and his beloved prince.

It wasn't a matter of concern for him but what was, was his beloved's well being and so for that his letters didn't stop there. The writer kept writing the prince letters to remind him of his love and affection, always making sure the prince on the other side of the land would find himself at ease to know that his lover had always counted him in his prayers.

This beautiful bond was harmless and definitely a blessing for both.

The writer continued showing his affection and continued waiting for his prince's replies.

They would send each other letters every week, being a report full of their weekly updates about each other's lives but ever since the writer came back after having to meet the beloved prince, he didn't receive the letter within a week.

The writer had poured his heart out, letting his prince know how much he missed him and he desperately waited to know what his prince had to say but unfortunately he didn't receive any response.

The writer was devastated but he let himself stay a little more patient, maybe the letter would come the next week?

Knowing exactly what his prince was going through gave him a sense that he must be engaged in a lot of activities ever since the eldest prince left the kingdom and definitely it would be tough for him but he still had a hope to receive a reply.

This patience game continued for the writer, a number of letters kept being written by him with a rose taking space in his envelope, sealed safely with bee wax with a stamp of a rose as well.

The more the writer would write letters to the other, the more yearning and desperation they would hold, to a point where the letters almost turned into the context of those books he wrote in pure desire to see his beloved.

The poetries filled letters, the envelopes kept being sealed, the roses kept being nurtured and sent to his lover and the desperate writer kept waiting for the messenger to come and hand him a letter with his Prince's name but it didn't seem to happen for over a month.

And something in the writer shifted.

That yearning, that desperation kept growing and that patience was near being tested because all he was filled with was worries.

And on that day when he was busy working on the manuscripts of the kingdom, working on pages under the dim light of his lamp on the desk of his bedroom, letting his casement fully being open to give breezes some access to explore his room and take that yearning of him far away to his beloved.

The heart had been gone through enough that it almost wanted to give up on beating.

The writer was in devastation as he tried to work but all he was consumed by was his beloved's thoughts.

Letting his back be against the backrest of his chair, he faced the painting above his desk.

That feeling was far too old to him but seemed so new all over again. The longing in his eyes accompanied by the shine of tears as he held that silk handkerchief in his hand.

The handkerchief was carrying crimson stains of strawberry juice that once dripped through the prince's plum lips, the writer didn't have the heart to wash his love away so he kept his essence treasured like that with him, always intact in the front pocket of his coat.

The handkerchief for then was somewhat soaked with his tears, wetting the stains of crimson shade, almost appearing as if he was bleeding love.

If he could bleed love, not a single drop would be left within him for then.