"forever isn't long enough, so you can have my next 5 minutes."
Emma doesn't know why she's writing this (love)letter to Regina, but here she is, bent over a too full desk at 2am with the radio singing sweetly to her in the corner and the desk lamp casting shadows across the page (almost as though it's trying to help her, trying to steady her shaking hand and reassure her that no matter what the words that echo inside your crazy heart deserve to be scrawled down for everyone - or just Regina - to fall in love with).
"i think that i'm too empty sometimes, but then again you're too full so i guess we even each other out."
Emma wonders to herself at night (sometimes, not always, but she occasionally falls asleep and dreams of a life lived with a woman who has a razor sharp tongue and an even sweeter smile; who reads herself to sleep at half 10 in the morning on a Sunday since Sunday's are lazy days and you're allowed to nap before 3 in the afternoon: it's in the rules; who sings along to the wind in the winter without realizing it and who then get's embarrassed because you started to harmonize with her without realizing it; who cries when she's happy and smirks when she's sad. Emma dreams this and always, always, wakes up feeling the fading echo of a happiness so pure that for a few seconds she can believe that she is something other than the screw-up she has always been and maybe, just maybe, she deserves love just like every other bastard out there. But then reality sets in like a frost, Emma laughs/sobs and tries desperately to forget she ever felt anything at all) if she should feel something other than echoes - if normal people felt so much more than her. She then thinks of how it feels to be beside Regina; how bright and brilliant the world seems in those fleeting smiles that grace scarred lips.
Emma likes the think that Regina is magic because of the tingles she feels that cause her toes to curl and her mouth to follow suit when Regina laughs (she has very different laughs - one is all sarcastic and scraping; one sounds like the sun feels during a summers evening when you're out the back, listening to the sound of a dying day and sipping on a cool drink; another hiccups and tries to cry out for help but can never seem to find the right words too make such a plea).
"you make me want to spend each breath telling you how magnificent you truly are."
It's half past 2am and now Emma is fighting back tears. Regina would've called her out on it, surely; she would have drawled out in that way she has, "Miss Swan, grossly sobbing is not exactly what one would call... productive, when writing one's love a letter." Well, Emma thinks to herself as she viciously strikes out the word "attractive" and replaces it with "pulchritudinous" instead, being in love isn't what one would call productive. She dots an 'i' with a begrudging air, as though she is doing this against her will (well, in a way she is. Emma never asked to fall in love. She never asked to have someone steal her heart the way a shooting star steals the dreams of the broken in a flash and twinkle) instead of coming to a conclusion about things and decided that telling someone (Regina) about the sheer immensity of her feelings for them would be the best(? she isn't too sure about this yet but goddammit when is she ever sure of anything anymore) course of action.
"and then i'll trace my name into the constellations on your back and laugh when your heart murmurs my name back to me."
Emma looks at the clock on the radio (that's now playing a song about birds on a wire and she feels as though it is a nice metaphor for her and Regina; they're both just two birds sitting on a wire, chirping at each other and everyone else, who then fly away together when everyone else bores them to some new place just before the bloody red horizon, where they find a new wire to sit on and watch the world go by - together) and sees that it is now 3am, and that she has written an awful lot.
She sighs and lets her mind wonder - and isn't at all surprised when it seems to wonder directly to Regina. Emma wonders what it is like to kiss Regina on the mouth (like, not even with tongue or anything. Just a simple kiss; a mere brushing of lips and a whispered 'I love you' left on the others bottom lip when they pull away) but then once she does, she has to force herself to stop because that thought train only leads to a chasm where she will eventually teeter on the edge of, tip off and go out in an explosion of hot hums and blazing breaths.
Regina is pretty smokin', Emma thinks with a grin and laughs when she writes that down. She adds something about her hips and how they seem to sway to a rhythm Emma can only describe as prurient (because Regina does invite people to stare after her just by walking about and it's not Emma's fault that she finds this stride so alluring), and how enamored she is by everything Regina is.
"you make me want to believe in infinities and tonights, sempiternities and sometimes, eternities and everydays."
Emma realizes that the word "sempiternities" doesn't technically exist, but she thinks that Regina will like the way Emma changes words to suit her, because then she'll (maybe) think that no words exist that truly capture what Regina is (all fire and overfilled and stunning) and there's the fact that it's now 4am and her head is pounding, her hand is shaking and her eyes are burning, so she really doesn't care if she makes up words. All Emma cares about is finishing this off and sleeping away the fear of rejection that has taken root deep inside her lungs.
So now that it is 4 o'clock in morning Emma feels that she is allowed to do something silly, since that's what people do at 4 o'clock in the morning (she wonders what Regina doesn't at 4 o'clock in the morning and then decides that she would be asleep, dreaming of things better left unsaid and chances never taken) and writes "I love your youness" in huge letters.
Regina is in her office, reading an unimportant document and wondering where Miss Swan was, because she hasn't seen nor heard from her all day and it's now 2pm. Glancing around the clean, crisp room, she spots something beneath the door. She lifts herself from her desk and walks towards the (now identified) envelope that seems to have been slid under the door.
Curious (even more so when she recognizes the owner of scrawl that decorates the front and is amused when she sees the apple red lips that adorn the back) she sits herself down behind her desk and opens it with a well practiced flick of a letter opener. Her lips part slightly when she reads the first line,
"Dear Regina, forever isn't long enough so you can have my next 5 minutes."
Disclaimer: I don't own stuff.
I hate this so much but it was stuck in my head and I needed to write it out so yeah.
(idk it seems as though i try to hard to be descriptive or something? ahhh)
Oh yeah, I may go and write the letter that Emma wrote, if I can be bothered.