our love blooms (like flowers in the spring)

all for you

Thursday, August 24th, 1815

My dear beloved Zachary,

Last night, you fell asleep in my study.

You were reading the new book I bought you. You were lulled to sleep by Jane Austen's witty chapters.

I had not noticed until I stood up to read by your side. It is a custom I have grown attached to have—to read by your side. I find comfort in your quiet sounds when something exciting happens in your book.

I have read Austen's books. They speak of love. Do you know how much I dream of the same type of love with you? Well, it is not the same. My love for you is far more intense.

It started when I first gazed into your eyes. Ah, your honey, almond-shaped eyes. Always filled with joy and happiness whenever you acknowledge my presence. When you laugh, you close your eyes. Are you aware of that? Because I am. The corner of your eyes crinkle beautifully to express such a delightful emotion.

Your turnt-up nose crinkles slightly as well. It is adorable to see you laugh. Your usually stoic face becomes filled with joy. Your coral pink lips are always glistening prettily. I just want to claim them for myself. To kiss them raw until both of our jaws ache.

Ah, yes. Your jaw. It is so sharp and masculine. My fingers long for the day they can trace it. Perhaps I could start from your chin and trace the bone to your ear. My index finger would then move to your neck, tracing your Adam's apple. I would then allow my lips to trace your clavicle ever so gently. I am aching to taste them. Will they taste of lilies? I surely wish they do.

Would you hold onto me as I do such things to you? Call out my name as I worship your flesh? There is nothing more I wish to know. My mind races with thoughts of you. Tamed and untamed. Forgive me, not for having them but for loving them and wanting to indulge in them. I crave you madly.