Darling,
I have fantasized about your
upbringing many a time. I too was a little lad in British boarding school; we
would steal swords from our headmaster and play knights in the basement. I do
believe that if our tiny hearts had crossed each other’s path at that point in
time, we would be inseparable little ones. I, tying bows in your dewy curls
while you mend my sword's sheath…the two of us passing swigs of stealthily
smuggled gin. Back then we would have never fathomed the intimate life
we lead today, or rather, months ago when I was still in your arms. My wooden
leg is doing well. The leeches have grown plump. I
still fight like an ox. Well dearest, back to the trenches I go. I will be
dreaming of your warm baths and sweet hole.
Your
sword-slinging champion,
Bentley
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