Music: Hear You Me - Jimmy Eat World
It was right about midnight and the air was thick with fall. Dead leaves litter the sides of pavements and skies were clear. The moon was so bright it could've burned the stars out.
This town didn't seem as beautiful as it was to her a year ago. One year ago, everything held her with wonder and surprises. This year, the town seemed to be as dead as the leaves on the ground.
She flicked her lighter and watched the smoke twirl and disappear. She wondered how she could express herself this time. She's as exhausted as the amount of words she'd used but she figure she'd give it a try, for her own sake.
And so she put pen to paper and like second nature, the words took shape once again.
Dear person,
When I was younger, I used to dream of the days I'd gotten to spend with you. I used to dream of being far away, waking up in haze, curled in sheets and tangled in the arms of the person I'd fallen in love with.
Love, as I have learned, is not the evening walks in Paris. It is not giggles over pink champagne or bouquets of flowers.
I don't know what love is.
But what I do know is there's still this little part in me that cares for you. I may not get to hear your voice or see you in a long while but my thoughts stray and sometimes they ask me how you're doing.
How are you doing in the midst of all this?
I wish I knew so I could hold your hand if you were nervous. Bring you food if you were hungry. Calm you down if you were anxious. Make you laugh if you were down. Give you a hug if you were tense.
I don't know why I want to do these things for you. It's not love because love isn't this simple, is it?
I caught myself today. It was subtle but I caught myself talking about you and it struck me at how much distance there is now between us. More than the distance we had spent when I was 14 hours ahead in time from you and there were oceans and continents and mountains between us.
It brought me back to the times when we were foolish dreamers. We talked about riding elephants in India and hiking mountains in Nicaragua. We had planned for this one big adventure to a foreign land like Istanbul where we didn't speak the language and we'd only have maps and each other to get us through.
It reminded me of the times you laid by me, groggy from the sounds of the morning and drifting in and out of sleep, unprepared to face the day or the world yet. They expect so much out of us, don't they?
It showed me the night you came home with maps and contact information and one more big responsibility sitting on your shoulder. You were so scared but I was so proud.
I was always proud of you.
I don't know what love is. But I know I will miss you for a while and you have to find it in you, somewhere, to forgive me for that.
I am so sorry, from the bottom of my heart for ever weighing you down with this stupid notion of feelings. They are petty things that a person shouldn't even bother with and I am sorry.
Sincerely,
Me.
She stared at yet another damp paper. The ink was smeared at places and some words barely legible. She smoothed the creases out of the side and folded it neatly.
Sealing it with a kiss, she took her lighter and watched as the bright flame lick it up. She hoped that would get to him. Like sending gifts to the dead, she crouched and hugged herself, shaking from the sadness.
She was mourning the death of yet another part of her.
