My Dearest,
As the golden hues of the twilight embrace the horizon, my thoughts, like a flock of homeward-bound birds, find their way to you.
The gentle murmur of the brook, under the watchful gaze of the silvery moon, speaks your name in hushed whispers, as if nature herself is in league with my heart’s longing for your presence. Oh, how I yearn for the days when we walked hand in hand through the verdant meadows, our hearts dancing to the melodious song of the lark.
Each petal, each blade of grass, seemed to have known the touch of your delicate hands, as if even the earth beneath our feet rejoiced in your grace.
In the solitude of my chamber, I often find solace in the memories of your laughter, a melody more pleasing than the sweetest symphonies of Beethoven or Mozart.