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Until then, this letter will have to suffice, though I hate it for its inadequacy. I hate how small the space between the lines feels, compared to the expanse of what I feel for you.
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𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆,
𝓐𝓜𝓝.
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So I will wait for you—in a place similar to where we shared our first kiss, though different and farther away. The London Bridge, in England. Come, and you will have your answer there.
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Time seems to blur into itself, one day indistinguishable from the next. Perhaps it’s the routine here at the orphanage, or perhaps I’ve simply been elsewhere—lost, even to myself.
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It is strange how life conspires to disorient us, to upend the quiet chaos we’ve grown used to. I’ve spent the last few weeks in a sort of limbo. I haven’t been to school, though I imagine that’s of little consequence now.
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to your voice carried across these letters from distant places, but this… this one was different. A weight pressed on my chest even before I read the words.
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Your letter arrived this morning. I sat there, staring at it, the paper trembling in my hands before I even dared to unfold it. I had grown accustomed to the rhythm of your words,
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