My dearest,
I look back upon your life and where you saw suffering I see the trail of happiness you left behind. I wish I would've showed you before your flower withered. It has been three months, and I still am not used to realising you are not here with me my rain. Every morning it's something I need to remind myself, well, I wish I didn't remind myself. It's been surprisingly hot and dry for this time of year. I miss the rain. But than again, I miss you more.
Akiva is the one who told me it would be a great idea if I put as secret compartment where I can put letters in for you. It makes me feel better, and closer to you my love. I wear the key around my neck, it's a key to my heart, quite litterally. I've been wanting to tell you some things about life. Life has been quite busy I must say. I helped Eleanor get the first interested publisher, we think she'll be very happy about it, and they say that an alias isn't necesarry. I am incredibly happy about it myself, I am proud of Frances. I am writing a book about two lovers who write letters to eachother and as she's upper class and he isn't it is not as easy as they like it to be. I haven't decided on the ending yet, but I am sure I will find a fitting one. The boys have been growing up so fast, I wish you could see them. It's astonishing, Émile is getting settled here in England, he quite likes it here and has taken a liking to a certain Oscar and his delegates. But we could've known, Frances has been collecting more and more attraction, her paintings are worth a lot already. I am so proud of her, and I know you would be too. I miss you here, I wish I could share all of this with you. But thankfully you're never far away, My father passed away suddenly a month ago, which Is why I live close to your grave. We buried you on the family graveyard, your stone even says Cyril Courtenay-Montague, if somebody asks you married Frances before you died my rain (Even though she would have your name, and you wouldn't have hers). It is beautiful place to rest, unders the oaks, beside my father. You deserve it my love.
You know, sometimes I have the childish, foolish and fragile hope that I will find a letter from you my love. I still would like to deny that you are gone, I will be completely honest with you my love. When you died I wanted to quite I wanted to lay myself down beside you and let the earth consume me. But I have learned something. When I read your letter I realised that you never meant for me to join you in death. You meant for me to live, so everyday that I wake up I thank whatever you used to call god that I am lucky enough to live another day for you. I think you made me realise how I can enjoy living again my love. I thank you for it, I wish you didn't have to die for it. I love you, I miss you and I am sorry.
Your eternal sunlight,
Yves montague