Writes..."The Letter"

“to write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written." - jean-jacques rousseau

““her heart dropped when she saw the number come up on her cell phone screen. she recognized it immediately; it was a number i’d used to reach her in the past when i had been desperate to hear her voice. but having received a text from me only a couple of weeks earlier that included the words “save this number”, and seeing that that number wasn’t the one calling her now, she knew that despite my name being displayed, in all likelihood i wasn’t on the other end of the line. the phone once, then twice, and was about to ring a third time before she answered it. “b?”, she said softly, almost afraid from not knowing what to expect. “hello”, a female replied, “is this (insert name here)?” “yes, this is her”; and though their interaction had been limited in the past, it took very little effort to identify the voice she was hearing as my mom’s. “(insert name here), um, forgive me for skipping any pleasantries but…well, brian made me swear i’d call you in anything bad ever happened to him…and well, it’s not good”. and with those words she paused; only for a moment, but for in moment there was silence on both ends. neither one of them knew what to say, and all (insert name here) could do was flashback to the conversation where she and i had actually had made that commitment to one another. one day, during a phone call, i made the comment that if something happened to her i wouldn’t even know about it; that the only news i would ever get on her would have to come from her own mouth. especially after the way our relationship as a couple ended, well, faded into nonexistence; i knew that nobody around her thought highly enough of me to inform me if she ever got sick or injured, or worse. despite the close bond that we’d developed over the years since our courtship concluded; the truth is we’d only dated for a few months and i seriously doubted that the time we had been together had been deemed significant by anyone other than us. in spite of there being an “us” for only a brief period of time, even while we were together, we both would’ve adamantly professed the connection between us to have been the most intimate either of us had ever experienced. but that was a secret that for years only we shared; thus, it wasn’t very hard to imagine myself an afterthought in the minds of the people she held dear; a chapter from her life considered like many others: unimportant, and definitely one of the more forgettable parts of the book.

me: “if something ever happens to you, how will i know? we don’t live in the same city anymore, so it’s not like i can just swing by your house in order to check on you. and we don’t really have any mutual friends; so who would give me that kind of news? i’ll need to know if…well, i don’t want to assume that something bad has occurred due to not haven’t heard anything from you in months.”

her: “i understand brian. believe me, if something ever happens to me you’ll definitely be one of the first to know about it.”

me: “so who’s gonna let me know? your mom? does she even remember me?”

her: “yeah, to her you’re the guy i dated that was always wearing black. hahaha. but seriously, i’ll have someone call you; even if it’s (her oldest daughter). in fact, i’ll just have (her oldest daughter) do it.”

me: “promise me that and i’ll promise you the same.”

her: “i promise you brian. and you better.”

me: “you know i will.”

her mind was still focused on that exchange when my mother started speaking again. “he’s gone (insert name here); brian passed away in his sleep this morning.” and there was another moment of silence; this one seemingly lasting a little longer than the previous one. she wanted to say something; anything; but the shock of what she had just heard had left her paralyzed. but even if she could’ve forced herself to mouth a few words, she knew there weren’t any she could extend that would bring peace to either of them. i was dead; and nothing spoken would change that. so, after a few more moments where neither of them said anything, she managed to compose herself long enough to offer her deepest sympathies, along with her thoughts and prayers; pledging any support needed by my family in their time of grief. my mother accepted her condolences, thanking her one final time before hanging up; leaving her to contemplate what she had just been told. i was gone; the relationship we shared was done; and with both of them having become her reality, all she could do was reflect on our history…while wiping away tears formed from the memories of we’d once been.

the second time my mother’s phone number appeared on the screen of her “i-phone” came exactly a week after my body had been placed in the ground, yet it produced the same reaction in her the first one did. i mean, the last time she’d talked to my mom the conversation hadn’t actually inspired much confidence in her and she had very little reason, well, no reason, to believe another one would’ve gone any differently. “hello”, she answered; hesitantly, almost afraid of the exchange that was coming. “hello (insert name here). i’m sorry to bother you; i know you’re probably very busy but there’s something i feel you need to know. well, while we, (my sister) and i, were going through brian’s stuff, we opened the safe where he kept his important documents locked away and found a letter that he’d written but hadn’t mailed addressed to you. so i figured i’d give you a call in order to see if it might be something you wish to have in your possession.” a moment of silence… “(insert name here), you still there?” there were tears falling from her eyes and running down her cheeks; and she realized it had become difficult to speak. but she managed to force herself into a “yes ma’am”; and more importantly, “i want it”.

she wasn’t surprised that i had left behind a letter for her; nor was she shocked in thinking such a letter might have consisted of my spilled guts in expressing the feelings i had for her. nobody knew me better than she did and she knew nobody was better than me when it came to the commitment of meaningful words.

a couple of days later, a thick envelope arrived at her home; and when she collected the mail, she recognized the handwriting on it immediately. she’d used to say that i had beautiful penmanship, but at that moment she was smearing my script with her tears. the initial ones were wiped away with a shirt sleeve but when more continued to fall from her face, she thought to herself, “i’m crying and i haven’t even opened the envelope yet. this isn’t going to be good.” she wanted to open it right there standing beside her mailbox but she was hesitant; this letter was the final link between us in life and she knew it represented a closure that we’d never, ever imagined for our relationship. i mean, ten days after we first met, we were using the term “always” to describe the bond between us; but we’d never asked ourselves how long our “always” would last. and if the ending of our “always” had been realized, evidenced by the letter i’d written her, then she was going to need a sufficient amount of time to absorb every word penned in it. no, standing at her mailbox wouldn't do at all; it couldn't provide the proper environment for an act of this magnitude. she would be reading the final words addressed to her, from the person she had held the deepest connection to in life. she needed a private place; where she could cry, or yell, or curse; do whatever she felt appropriate. but mostly, she required solitude for the breakdown she knew was coming while she went through it; her thinking being you can't go through a letter like this and not breakdown at some point.

once inside, she went into her bedroom and plopped down on her bed. then she opened the envelope and began to read the first page.

“dear (insert nickname here),

i always figure i will send this letter to you one day, probably the day i can convince myself that you’ll be equally receptive to what i’ve already come to realize as truth: that every day we’re not together is another day that we’ve wasted by being apart. there, i said it. if you’ve ever wondered how i feel about a reconciliation, i think i just summed my feelings up on our relationship in a way i never have in anything previously written or said…‘cause there simply isn’t any other way to put it. we both know the reality of life is you only get so much of it before it’s gone, yet neither one of us seems to appreciate just how much we’re squandering ours. i remember you saying that we have to live our lives as they are until the day the moon and the planets align perfectly and we find ourselves together again; but i wonder, not if we could do more to set those celestial bodies on that course, but why we haven’t done more to carry out their synchronization? i know there had been a time in the past where we’d both tried to figure out things for ourselves; having been in situations that required a measure of division between us. and i recall you writing “i’m not saying that it will be always be like this but unfortunately for right now it is what it is”; and while we each had showed consideration for the other’s own circumstances, there’s never been a time i’ve felt anything that might, has threatened what we could be at a time we both get what we truly want. and from what i’ve read, through your own words, it isn’t hard for me to accept that you feel the same way. we’ve always said what we have is transcendent and i still believe that.

do you remember when i wrote this: "when we were together i told her i loved her all the time. now, we're not together and i still tell her i love her. sure, much time has passed and the distance separating she and i has increased; but nothing's changed between us. what i feel for her hasn't changed; and what i want from her hasn't changed. she once asked how do you tell the person that you've always loved you still have love in your heart for them and i’ll answer that question with a question. why was i surprised that she does? i do. we'll never lose what we had because we'll never lose what we have. what we have is transcendent; always and forever. but mostly, what we have is ours."? do you remember when i used those words to show you my heart? ‘cause i do; and nothing said then rings any less true now. but i won’t employ a past thought to help define a future “us”. you know how i feel about you; surely you don’t need to look back over aged notes that i’ve already sent you to determine what you mean to me. nah, i don’t think that you would need to; not when you take in account what we are to one another.

so i write you this letter: my awkward, yet humble attempt at the disclosure of what i’m presently thinking. i love you…and i’m pretty, fairly sure; well i have it on good authority, that you love me. hahaha, i know, i know; you tell me. “more than i know” in fact. and that’s a phrase not easily dismissed because frankly, your “more than you know” has meant even more to me than the preceding three have. there’s something extraordinary in telling someone you love them, and then adding “more than you know”, that means to signify even though you’ve already used the most effective words that people have in expressing strong sentiment for another person, even “i love you” lacks the ability to convey exactly what you feel for them. and though you know you could exhaust every other term for affection known to man to try to perfectly communicate your heart, you realize how futile the effort would be and that it would be best to simply submit to “more than you know”. ‘cause you’ll never be able to verbally explain the feelings you hold for them successfully; and the reality is even if your words somehow penetrated through to someone’s heart, the person they were directed at still wouldn’t understand fully their true meaning. believe me, i know. i started the “more than you know’s” between us and you still don’t really know how i feel about you.

thus, i have to conclude that not really comprehending what the other holds in their heart is the reason that we are fucking around; letting our own individual bullshit continue to keep us apart; both of us seemingly content to let precious time pass. but the truth is, despite what my actions or inaction may indicate, i find no pleasure in knowing that we’re not just losing time we could be spending together; we’re wasting time we’ll never be able to get back. no enjoyment, and definitely, no happiness. let me ask you this question… “are you happy?” i know i’ve asked you this many times before, probably to the point of annoyance, but experience has taught me that nothing in life is as important as the discovery of someone or something that truly brings you joy; especially when that someone or something has to do with being loved or loved back. it’s funny, in writing that i remembered reading a quote that expanded on my thinking: “we search all our lives to find someone to love and the true extreme thing is that person actually loves you back. it’s the most genuine feeling ever.” you’re right, er, sorry i stole one of your lines. hahaha. well, i spent my entire life searching for you. i love you and you love me back. and the truth is i don’t want to squander another moment of my life not being with you.

i hope you receive this letter while we both can do something about being together again.

- brian

remember we’re not just “always”, we’re “forever” too.”

and with the final words read, she carefully placed the letter on a nightstand before burying her face into a pillow she would saturate with tears. everything she’d pored over had touched her heart, but she just couldn’t get the last line out of her head: “i hope you receive this letter while we both can do something about being together again.” her mind raced as the questions began to take form. “why didn’t he ever send me this? he knew how i felt about him. he knew what i wanted. why hadn’t he…”, when suddenly she stopped herself. she could speculate or assume any number of possibilities as solutions for her inquiries but she realized she would only be rewarded with speculation and assumptions; and the only person she could go to for the answers to her questions was no longer around to give them. i was dead and the opportunity for any discussion on the subject had passed when i did. i had left her in life…with a letter.”

except there’ll be no letter to find expressing any heartfelt sentiment i had for her when i die; as i sit here writing this now, i ponder what the purpose would be of that. well, not really pondering, because my thoughts on this are biased and i can’t even force myself to develop an argument for the act of a penned note. i mean, i just don’t get it; there certainly can’t any satisfaction to be had in having someone discover, through hidden correspondence, you were holding on to loving thoughts that you never conveyed to them before you passed. so i won’t do that. i can’t. when i die, there won’t be any guessing about how i felt for the woman that i loved in life; especially not by the woman that i loved in life. when i die, she’ll know my heart…presumably better than i had.”