A letter consigned to the flames
Aug. 8th, 2014 12:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eskil_douglasDearest Becquerel,
I wish I could hate you for what you did. I wish I was angry at you for leaving me. I wish that I wanted to hurt you so you could feel a fraction of the pain I’m in. I don’t and I’m not. I want you to be happy. I love you and I want nothing but the best for you. I am crushed and shattered and in pieces because of you - but I can’t bring myself to blame you for it. I wish I didn’t understand - but I do.
Everywhere I go you are there - in my bed sleeping curled up right next to me, at my dinner table enjoying Mrs. Finchley’s cooking, sitting in the settee reading a boring treatise and sipping coffee. I left my home, but you’re at the coffeeshop focused on drawing, walking down the street holding my arm. Even at Karin’s you are there, chopping a giant mushroom and drinking white wine in her kitchen, in the guest bed where we shared that last night before I left to return to the surface and breaking free. The images of you, of us - they’re haunting me. And I can hardly sleep or eat or even think for the memories always intruding - leaving me no respite.
I tried to go out and distract myself with the company of my acquaintances, but the way people looked at me, pitied me or laughed at me, I had to flee. I tried to go to church, but the good Lord will have to forgive me - if our love was a sin, if I am indeed a sinner, I do not repent and His love cannot bring me peace now that it is over and they want me to bow my head in shame. I tried to drink, but there’s no relief at the bottom of a bottle - only remorse and hangovers. I try - but I fail.
My innocence. It feels like I’m doomed to forever be the innocent - and how am I supposed to defend myself, to stand up for my actions when I’m not at fault?
If it wasn’t for Karin I think I would have drowned by now, she is my rock in this storm - but even if she keeps me above the surface I need to learn how to swim for myself.
I can’t stay here. I need to get away from you, even if you’re not here. I’m leaving. That’s all I know now.
Love
~ E.
He reads it over and over as the ink dries, then lights the match and sets it aflame, watches it burn and turn to ashes as he sips from his glass of rum.
I wish I could hate you for what you did. I wish I was angry at you for leaving me. I wish that I wanted to hurt you so you could feel a fraction of the pain I’m in. I don’t and I’m not. I want you to be happy. I love you and I want nothing but the best for you. I am crushed and shattered and in pieces because of you - but I can’t bring myself to blame you for it. I wish I didn’t understand - but I do.
Everywhere I go you are there - in my bed sleeping curled up right next to me, at my dinner table enjoying Mrs. Finchley’s cooking, sitting in the settee reading a boring treatise and sipping coffee. I left my home, but you’re at the coffeeshop focused on drawing, walking down the street holding my arm. Even at Karin’s you are there, chopping a giant mushroom and drinking white wine in her kitchen, in the guest bed where we shared that last night before I left to return to the surface and breaking free. The images of you, of us - they’re haunting me. And I can hardly sleep or eat or even think for the memories always intruding - leaving me no respite.
I tried to go out and distract myself with the company of my acquaintances, but the way people looked at me, pitied me or laughed at me, I had to flee. I tried to go to church, but the good Lord will have to forgive me - if our love was a sin, if I am indeed a sinner, I do not repent and His love cannot bring me peace now that it is over and they want me to bow my head in shame. I tried to drink, but there’s no relief at the bottom of a bottle - only remorse and hangovers. I try - but I fail.
My innocence. It feels like I’m doomed to forever be the innocent - and how am I supposed to defend myself, to stand up for my actions when I’m not at fault?
If it wasn’t for Karin I think I would have drowned by now, she is my rock in this storm - but even if she keeps me above the surface I need to learn how to swim for myself.
I can’t stay here. I need to get away from you, even if you’re not here. I’m leaving. That’s all I know now.
Love
~ E.
He reads it over and over as the ink dries, then lights the match and sets it aflame, watches it burn and turn to ashes as he sips from his glass of rum.
