To Auther,
I wish I could send these to you. You have no idea how much I want to send you all of these letters that I'm constantly righting. They're all just for you. There's so many things I want to tell you. That a miss you. That I still love you and I will no matter how much time passes or how many times you say you never want to see me again. It hurts when you say that, you know? Though it's been a while since I've heard anything from you. The last time I called that new russian boyfriend of yours answered the phone. I know you remember what he threatened to do to me if I called you anymore. I remember you taking the phone from him and telling me that if I ever called again you would LET him do those horrible horrible thing to me. I think it's been two months since then. Since I promised not to call anymore. Since I started righting these letters that I'm never going to end to you. Oh how I wish I had the courage to actually send these. I want to know that your okay, that your happy and that this new boyfriend of yours is treating you right. I don;t want you to be lonely, or hurt, or sad. You don't deserve that. You only ever did your best when you were still with me. You always tried to put me first and take care of the things I needed. So I hope he's doing the same for you. You truly deserve to be treated like a king. I just wish I was the one doing it. I wish you were still here with me, tucked safely away in my bed or moving about the living room or trying to cook in the kitchen. Which you could never do, though it was cute to watch you try. I would always humor you, say your food was good even though it was horrible. I could always endure the awful taste when it meant I got to see the beautiful smile light up your face. Oh mon cher? Do you remember that cute little boy we were thinking about adopting. I took him in. His name is Mattieu. He's adorable, and only a year old. I wish you could be here to help me take care of him. I know you would be such a wonderful mother. You always told me that, even though you knew very well that you were a man that you wanted to be a mom. I've told him about you, though I doubt he understands a word I'm saying yet. Don't worry though, I'll just tell him your a good friend of his Papa's. I know you wouldn't want me to tell him that you were his mother if he was never going to see you. Which of coarse I still hope one day you'll be able to meet my precious angle. I wonder if you've adopted finally. You've been with this man what? A year now or was it a little longer? I can't really seem to keep track of the days any longer. Even my calender messes me up. Speaking of my calender its only a couple of days away from your birthday now. The twenty-third. You always did hate it when I went to great lengths to do special things for you on that day. Though no matter what you said I knew you appreciated it. You use to watch me with such a great mix of love and annoyance on that day that I could never tell which one was stronger. Though I like to believe that the love in your eyes was always stronger then the annoyance they held for me. As long as you enjoyed yourself, which I know you always did no matter how much you wanted to hide it, I would go to any lengths. On any day not just your birthday. Hell, mon cher, I think I still would go to any lengths to insure your happiness. Which is why I wont send you anything this year, which I why I stopped calling. Even if I can't seem to be able to move on, despite all the new wonderful things in my life, namely Mattieu, I want you to move on and be happy. I want the best for you and I always will no matter what else my happen.
I was told you moved. Went back to England. I glad. No matter what you may have said to me I know you never liked it much in Paris. France always seem to wavering on your patience. Be it the people, the food, or the weather. You always spoke so fondly about your home land so I'm glad you got the opportunity to return there. I'm guessing that boyfriend of yours went with you. I would have to you know, if you said the word we would have been on the plane the next day. But you always kept quiet. You knew how I loved this city and you didn't want to make me unhappy. I remember visiting London with you once. I remember how excited you were, bounce about as if you were a little kid again. You pointed things out and talked for hours as he walked around the city. Not that I minded any how, always loved the sound of your voice. Though you never believed me when I told you. I said it anyways. I loved how you'd get all red in the face when I said that, or gave you other little comments, or when I called you mon cher. Your face would get the most adorable little tinting of pink, just under your eyes on your cheeks. Oh how you use to hide it when I pointed it out. Quickly making excuses like it was the cold or the heat. Never the fact that my little comments thrilled you. I knew they did though. You could see it in your eyes.
And oh your eyes. Mon cher, I have never seen anyone else with such a lovely shade of green eyes. They like staring into fields of fresh, healthy green grass. It's such an amazing feeling to get lost in those eyes as I listened to your voice spin sweet fairy tales, or daring love stories. Your eyebrows to. Though I know I always teased you about looking like caterpillars were incredibly cute. They made you face look softer. That day you came home with them trimmed down, it just wasn't right. I remember making you promise to never trim them again. You were so surprised, going on about how you thought I disliked them, even though it was the complete opposite. Thinking about it I wonder if your children's book ever got published. Don't thing I forgot about that. How could one forget all those wonderful tales you use to tells. Tales of knights and witch craft and princesses in castles. It was always simply amazing. I remember often finding you away in the middle of the night awake and sitting up in bed next to me and scribbling away on your note pack using only a candle for light so you didn't wake me. And when I happened to wake up you would apologize and tell me to go back to sleep never once taking that intense gaze of yours off of your note book. I'll never know how you were able to do it, but then again I've never been one for writing. Sure I'm french I have a way with words when it comes to love, but the things, the stories you use to create were absolutely breath taking. Just the way you wrote was brilliant, never mind the magic you spun with you words as you retold those stories aloud. You use to babysit on your days off and I remember coming home and nestling down onto the floor with the two of three children that would be present and listen to you tell your stories. It was always amazing. I could easily see the light in your eyes and the excitement radiating from the children as you wove your tales. Some I had already heard, others you made up on the spot simply to entertain. And you never did sit still while talking did you? You were always one to move about, stand maybe and act out a scene as you told it, or jester with your hands creating shapes and pictures in thin air.
But alas I could go on and on about the little things and the big things that you always gifted me with. Oh how I wish I was able to send you this letter and tell you how much I still love you, how much I still miss you so dearly. Mattieu is crying in the other room so I have to rap this up quickly. I still miss you Angleterre, and I will always love you no matter what may change in either of our lives.
Yours For Ever,
Franis