The Letter

(Fiction - after yonks. I'm not sure where the inspiration for this piece came from, I just had a very strong mental image of a someone reading a letter and kind of went from there. It feels good to write fiction again.)

Darling Grace

(He always started his letters with darling. Never dear. Never anything else. When she teased him about it, he argued that the point of writing these letters would be lost if he didn't start off with darling - because she was in fact his darling)


It's been almost 3 months since I've last seen your beautiful face and I am so excited that it will be only a week more before I can lay my eyes on you again.

(The 3 months of which he spoke, she remembered  were easy on them both. He pointed out that it was a mark of a great love, that they were able to carry on with their lives, and yet still love each other so unconditionally. She had continued with her degree in the state, and traveled home the short distance every couple of weekends to see her parents, while he studying in distant Boston wasn't afforded the same luxury)

I still think of your last visit and what joy we shared. And I think that is what I love most about what we have Grace. When we are together, everything seems lighter and better. Everything is happier, funnier and sweeter when you are there to share it.

(She had adored Boston and he had delighted in showing off the city he had grown to love so much, to the woman he loved. They had chased each other like children and marveled at the heady culinary delights that pervaded the atmosphere. At night, with his immense popularity - they would find themselves invited to places where they would be laughing hysterically with people over gin and tonics or even in the same night embroiled in heady philosophical discussions over wine)

It took me a while get used to waking up in the middle of the night and not feeling you next to me. Which is funny because you only spent a few days with me this time - perhaps the shortest unbroken period of time we have enjoyed together.

(In the nights, she would be wrapped up in his embrace and would never know that he would lie awake for an hour after she had fallen asleep, just to watch her sleeping. She on the other hand would remember the one night when they had come home at 4am, to drunk to sleep and had instead curled up on the bed and eaten ice cream out of the tub, and argued about what was a better love story - Casablanca or Gone With The Wind. She would also remember the time she woke up suddenly from a bad dream, and felt the weight of his arm across her and just felt safe)

There are million things I want to say to you, that this letter cannot hold. Things I have shouted across football fields on balmy Autumn nights;  things I have whispered in your ear; things we have Facebook-ed and texted and emailed. But somehow - when I write the words 'I Love You' in an old fashioned letter - they feel their most real.

(She remembered when he first wrote her a letter. It was a year into their relationship, and a month before he left to Boston. She had rolled her eyes at first, and pointed out that thanks to the 21st century they would speak everyday.  But in time, she came to love these letters, so formally written - and he wrote as though it was the only means by which he could communicate to her. And soon it became a way for him to tell her things he found difficult to say. It became a private glimpse into his soul reserved only for her) 

This is a short letter darling, because I will be home very soon. And I will text you in the morning, like I always do, and you will reply with a picture of your shoes like you always do. I am so excited about this vacation - I have a feeling it will be our most memorable one yet! I will stop writing now before I get carried away and ruin the surprise!

I love you.
Jack

(He never did text her the next morning and it wasn't until the next evening that his sobbing mother called her - barely able to form the words. He had not suffered any pain, she kept saying - as though it would numb the pain that he left in their hearts. It was a week later when the police gave her the letter that had been clutched in his hand, when the car had hit him. And along with it, the police officer would explain that it was hidden deep in his pocket - was a beautiful diamond ring, with their names engraved on the inside.) 

Comments

Poo said…
Beautiful/Simple and I really did relate to some parts of your short story. Reminded me of a past that I cannot forget. :)
Shara said…
Thanks! I guess you never know what'll bring up memories :)
Poo said…
Indeed :)
Boston is a magical city! You have to visit it when you come over!
Casablanca for sure!
Love always seem so much Grander in Tragedy!
Embrace it while it's still alive! The real thing is my not be grander but definitely life changing!
Here is looking at you kid!
Mamee
Shara said…
The great loves are the tragic and crazy ones! <3

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