There is something incredibly unique about letters. About writing. All they are are letters on paper. How can they be so poweful? You can fall in love with the words, you can lose someone through words. Words.... the only sliver these two friends have left of each other. A letter every few weeks, or every few days. Hope, every few days. The words holding secrets, promises, feelings and hopes. Everything put into words, composed from letters, how given meaning by a society, by their own feelings. And still they are holding on to eachother through these words, throughs these worlds. One of them holding on to them like a tree holding unto his leaves in auttumn. The other one holding him like a promise.
YOU ARE READING
To my Dearest Friend
Historical FictionOut of mind out of sight? Is that something that's true, Yves hopes it's not. When his best friend moves away from victorian London to Paris and he can't follow he feels the weight of loneliness creeping up on him. But the letter from his dear Cyril...
