<em>Beloved,<br/><br/>I was so sorry to hear of your illness, but I am pleased to know you are quite well now. If only we could breathe life to the dreams of fevers and night. I am thankful of your 'arrangements', though I wonder at what that must have required. Of course I remember the word. I always will. It is something I can carry with me of you, something that can find me in dark circumstances and bright ones alike. A comforting touch that no one else can see every time it happens by my ears.<br/><br/>How silly I sound. I am glad though, that the words I've written could carry some comfort to you. It makes the writing that much sweeter. Obviously I'm not being as vague as I likely should with this letter, but how can I write to you and not say the thousand things on my mind.. How much I love you, how much I miss you.<br/><br/>Your touch haunts my dreams, begging me to stay in sleep and savor the warmth of your presence. But every day I wake and the room is the same room I've known for years. The bed is empty save for me. I cry in the mornings, my fingers curled in the pillow where your head should be resting. Circumstance is so cruel.<br/><br/>Louis, the hours seem longer when we are apart, and I've begun to show. I will be able to mask this for a time, but eventually there will be no hiding my condition. My father will not cast me out, I feel certain of it, but I can't imagine what he will do. I may not be able to write you for much longer, my love...<br/><br/>Promise me you will not forget me if my words come to a halt.<br/><br/>I promise in turn to think of you daily, to love you, and set aside some time every evening to think of what we've shared. I promise also that I will try to write. I should be able to manage something, perhaps.. More than likely after the babe is born.<br/><br/>I miss you. I am incomplete in your absence.<br/><br/>Love,<br/>Your flower</em>