Dearest love

Dearest love,

I have waited all my life, all my days, all the nights, all the time. All of it, to tell you this isn’t a love letter, rather, rather a complaint.

You my dear May have messed up dear sir Hemingway, Sur Shakespeare, silly love crazy Jack, Monsieur Bonaparte, rebellious Hugh Hefner et many others. But not me. I am juste a little rebel on the inside reading tales in Valentino, well I lie, I write them now.
Because my life thus far hath seen only grey clouds stealing blue clouds, sunlight et frilly giddy laughter like I were a queen, or simply a Marie Antoinette.

You my dear must change, if you shan’t then there will be more letters, more stories, et more shopping.
But that’s up to you, Jôu are with Cupid, I am with stupid, et so it goes.

Galley on to tea,
Sophie Becks