Dear cyril,
I'm glad to hear from you. I am so happy that Paris is every thing you imagined and more! I wish I could be there by your side. But with your beautiful descriptions it's almost as if I'm there already. My father and sister are both indeed doing very well. I really wish I could see the art there for myself, perhaps I'll visit you one day. Everything you talk about sounds delightful. I must say that England is less colourful then with you. See, I even mess up grammar without you here. I will be frank with you, I miss you. And I on the other hand do not have any new things to marvel about, I will be honest, it took me two days to write this one simple letter, but I want you to know that for me, you must enjoy everything for two. Pretend I did make it. Pretend I came with you. I know it's just wishful thinking but let us dream. And then I wil be in Paris for the night. I think we would both like that. I must say I forgot how quiet every thing here is without you. I imagine my mother loves the silence but I dread it, as would you. Maybe I'll get the chance to come see you there. I really hope so. I am homesick for a place I've never called home, that I barely even know. And about your remark about high society there. I've never met anyone who would fit there better than you my friend. believe me, they will love you. Act like yourself and they will instantly fall in love with the handsome englishsman.
But in this letter in this letter I also wanted to talk to you about this new book; The short stories you so adored have been collected into a book. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The book will be sent to you as an attachment to this very letter. I hope you enjoy it, and it's great to reminisce about our lovely grim England. I already made some annotations for you because you seem to enjoy that. I hope you like the book.
Back to my dreadful feelings. In summary I miss you, I miss the way you dance, the way you smell, the way you talk, the way you smile and the way you look into my eyes. I feel different without you. Sut enjoy Puris my dearest.
your sunlight,
Live your best life,
your dearest friend, Yves montague
Everything in the letter reflects the way I'm feeling at the moment.Just a bit less severely said. I really do miss him. Who wouldn't,most of my days and nights were spent with him, we could talk for hours on end, why? because we could, because we wanted to fill the silence our endless minds left us with. The doubt of being sane luring us closer and closer when we weren't with eachother. And no, I don't mean to say we weren't sane, (altough Cyril would disagree, he would always call me utterly mad. but that was his form of humour.) I mean we weren't normal, both of us didn't like to be told to believe in something without a good reason, we thought alike. I can only recaall one time Cyril was really mad at me. Sure we had our squabbles but those were mostly academic. He was there for me and I was there for him. it was as simple as that. He was my support and rescue. I look out of the window I hope it'll stay that way.