As she walked, she allowed her thoughts to drift once more, into the arms of a man that she had held so dear as a young woman. How she had loved his warm smile, and mischievous manner. She felt her heart race as though he were standing right before her. Oh silly woman, she thought. Here you are alone, an old maid of sorts, fawning over a mere memory. How her heart was broken so, she had never allowed herself to love another, and never would. For it was he that she had dreamed of each night, his soft tender caress, the feel of his naked skin against hers, as if they would just melt into one another and make love for the rest of their lives. Of course, Jane knew not much of lovemaking. For she had never been with a man in that way. But she could imagine what it might be like with him.
How she longed to run to him right now, take him in her arms and never again let go. She looked up to the sky, it was a bright sunny day. The kind of day that made you feel as though anything were possible. She stopped along the way to skip stones in the nearby creek and decided to sit for awhile. As she sat, she began to pen a letter of sorts, a letter that would never be read or delivered.
My Dearest Tom, How I long to be in your arms. It is with great pain that I write to you, pain that I have held deep inside of my very soul all of these years. I simply wish for the pain to be over, and to see your handsome face once more. If not for a lifetime, then just one day. It has been ever so lonely these past years, walking this path over and over again without you. I'm afraid that I have spent so much time looking back, that I can no longer remember the last time I have moved forward. It is with much regret that I have been without you for so long, and I do not believe that my heart is as strong as it once was. Please my love, come back to me, or I shall die one thousand deaths where I stand.
Jane As he walked, Tom could not help but think of how wonderful it might be to be walking with her hand clasped tightly into his. The very memory of it was enough to drive him mad. It had been too many years.
He had slowed his pace by now, and was enjoying the sounds of the countryside for which he had grown to love. The rustling of the trees, singing their fair songs into the wind, and the magical sound of the water whispering over the stones, it was his favorite place of all.