My Dear Edward,
I write to you not in the fever of passion, but in the clarity that comes with acceptance of what is, and what must be. Love, I have learned, is not the wild tempest that poets would have us believe, but rather a steady flame that burns regardless of circumstance—neither dimmed by absence nor brightened by proximity.
You have asked me to speak of my feelings, and I shall do so with the same directness that has always marked our discourse. I love you. This is a fact as immutable as the rising of the sun, as certain as the turning of the seasons. But I love you not because you complete some lacking part of myself, for I am whole in my own right. I love you because in you I recognize a kindred spirit—one who has known suffering and emerged neither broken nor hardened, but tempered.
We are equals, you and I, though the world would deny it. My station may be humble, my fortune modest, but my soul stands level with yours. In this recognition lies the foundation of any love worth having. I will not be made less by loving you, nor will I require you to be other than what you are to earn that love.
I have observed how love oft makes fools of the wise and slaves of the free. I refuse such diminishment. My affection for you is freely given, not extracted by pretty words or grand gestures. It requires nothing of you save honesty, and offers nothing save the same in return.
Should circumstances keep us apart, I shall not rail against fate like some tragic heroine. I shall carry this love as I carry all meaningful things—with dignity and without complaint. Should they bring us together, I shall meet that joy with the same steady spirit. For love, true love, exists independent of its object’s proximity or response.
I am not yours, Edward, for I belong first and always to myself. Nor are you mine, for no person can possess another. But I am with you in spirit, in purpose, in the deep understanding that passes between souls who have chosen to walk honestly through this difficult world.
The heart that loves with reason loves longest. Remember this, should you doubt the constancy of one who speaks so plainly of such tender matters.
Jane
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