05-11-11

Dear Miranda,

Happy one year anniversary. It's Bonfire Night in the UK...as the name would suggest they have big bonfires and have amazing fireworks displays, all to celebrate the fact that a guy (named Guy) centuries ago tried and failed to blow up the Houses of Parliament. I thought it pretty symbolic, but I know by now that you have snorted softly, rolled your eyes and yet you are continuing to indulge me by reading on with what is sure to be now a rather cute beginning of a smile on your face.

I thought it only fitting that I stick to my 'unoriginality' and write you a letter; not that words can ever cover how I feel about you, but there is something intrinsically beautiful about the handwritten word, do you not think?

I kept all your letters to me. Not to remember that you were an utter pain in the ass, but in case I ever forget how precious you are. Though if I should ever forget that it will obviously be some sort of debilitating medical condition that I cannot help.

I remember thinking, when I received your last letter, Thank God, Welcome back Miranda. I was so afraid that you would let all of your insecurities come between us and not even allow us a chance, and I couldn't even tell you that that is what you were doing because you had to realise for yourself. I am so glad that you did. And it wasn't - still isn't - that I wanted you to be confident, self-assured and in control all of the time, it was just that when you weren't, I wanted it to be when you could climb into bed with me and I could wrap myself around you and make everything ok. Idealistic, I know, but don't tell me that sometimes it isn't all you crave at the end of the day, because I distinctly remember you saying different on numerous occasions. And as for the meal, cooked thoroughly with exquisite ingredients that have a price tag to match? I'd say it's tender in the right places, constantly surprising me with hidden depths, and well worth everything invested in it, and I would dearly love to continue enjoying it for a long time.

I love you, Miranda Priestly. I am so in love with you that...well, to quote you, it's disgusting. We are so disgusting together. I love the way you walk, talk, the way you move when you dance, when you climb into bed...when you climb onto me. I love everything about you, even the things that infuriate me. I could live for a hundred years and never meet anyone like you again, but more than that, I would never want to.

You are extraordinarily beautiful, Miranda, inside and out (much like me, you agree?), and I am so grateful every single day that you chose to share that with me.

I am going to stop gushing now, because you have actually laughed out loud which I'm sure has given Emily some sort of nervous breakdown. You are also blushing.

How do I know this? Because I hand delivered this letter, and I have been waiting in your en-suite for you to open it. I am spying on you through the crack in the door.

Of course, if you have been doing neither of these things and have merely skimmed over my loving and thought-provoking words, then completely disregard that last sentence. I would ask you in this instance to vacate the office so that my deflated ego and myself can exit discreetly.

Aha. I knew it; you've looked at me now. That's definitely a smile. Rather predatory, wouldn't you say? Why are you still standing over there, then? Although you know how I very much love it when you move at a glacial pace...stop reading...I love you...

Finished! I hope I managed to keep it marginally realistic all the way through; I'm still wondering whether I should have left it a one-shot. But...thanks to everyone for the story alerts, favourites etc but most of all to everyone that has reviewed. It really means a lot, thank you! :)