Dear Eliza,
The sun has stopped providing its heat, paving the way for the selfish winter, and as the snow covers every inch of the ground turning everything white, I have found myself starting to remember the day you stood in the middle of the garden. Your eyes were closed as your head tilted at the sky, your arms outstretched on both sides and the way your lips parted as a snowdrop fell on your bottom lip and the way you smiled. At that time, I had thought of you like a bizarre species who liked catching a cold by swallowing ice cubes. But today as I sit here, on this old chair, writing this letter to you on a paper that rests on this unstable desk, suffering my torture with black ink, I have started to feel jealous of that snowdrop which was lucky enough to fall on your lips and melt at its warmth. I have begun to wonder how it would have felt if it was me instead of that cruel ball of ice.
I often take a peek from my window and stare at your father's house that stands right across my crampy shelter and sometimes, during my luckiest days, I am blessed with the sight of you sitting on the porch. Your eyes buried deep within the pages of a book, your lips pressed in deep concentration. The book has all your attention, an attention that I ache for now. This has made me realize that I have started to feel jealous of every little thing you touch - even the comb which travels down the smooth strands of your hair every morning, and I have to tell you, love, I am not liking this feeling. You have done something to me and it was so sudden that I have begun to feel that sending me here was just a part of your evil plan. You have bewitched me, my Little Witch. Bewitched me in ways even Elizabeth Bennet couldn't have done to Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and you have to tell me the reason for it as soon as I get back.
Until then, I want you to stay at the house. The house that you like to call 'ours' even though I am the one who owns it.
So stay at the house and wait for me,
Stay at the house and take care of it,
Stay at the house and make it home,
I will be back in your warmth soon.
With hope
Your husband,
William Ray
•••
YOU ARE READING
Till The Clock Strikes Gone
Romance❝In class, you said I reminded you of someone. Who is she?❞ ❝My wife. You remind me of my wife.❞ ━━━━━━━━━━ When an accidental time travel brings twenty-seven-year-old William eight years back to the pas...
