Written for the 31days comm. August 18: Spring letters and spring tears
Clow writes Yuuko a letter.
He fixed her tea exactly the way she liked it: steaming, without milk and too much sugar. When she reached for the cup and saucer, he paused and bent so he could kiss the soft flesh of her palm. "That was the first part of the message," he said and gave her the letter.
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In Venice, we would have rested in gondolas and listened to a boyish soprano serenade us through watery streets. In Saint Peter's Square, I'd buy you a flower. We'd sit in winter air, you with your parasol of black lace and me in my heavy robes, laughing as I recited Petrarchan love sonnets. The evening would find us in Paris. Artists in Place d'Etoile vied for the right to sketch your portrait, marvelling at the slope of your shoulders, the length of your neck, and your mouth's sensuous curve. When we made love, I traced the parts of you that those artists craved to capture. You hair would get tangled and knotted and I'd spend the rest of our nights combing it with my fingers.
The years we could have spent together have meant worlds to me. You, my dear, are the one wish that I am glad was never fulfilled.
-Clow
P.S. Don't you think my messenger is very cute?
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She folded the paper and put it away. She glanced at the messenger: a small boy with glasses and a tendency to smile too much. He thanked her for the tea and hospitality before pressing his lips to hers. "Courier's fee," he said in his lilting boy's voice and left.