Sealed With Ink

Epilogue

Arabella, darling, this is for you
22 September 1945

It's been exactly seventeen days since your letter arrived on my doorstep. It's also been exactly ten days since I attended your funeral.

It's ridiculous because the second I walked out of the cemetery all I wanted to do was write to you about it. About how I had no idea what to do next. I even sat down at some nice corner cafe and pulled out a piece of paper. I only realized my idiocy when I wrote down your name. I realized that I had only just buried you. That across from me sat your brother, still holding back his tears. He watched me crumple the paper and frowned. I told him it was no use.

Besides, it felt wrong to write a letter if you weren't going to receive it. Though I suppose that's how it's been for a while now. I don't even know which letters you managed to read.

Despite what I said, here I am, writing to a ghost.

I'm going to be entirely truthful with you darling...

My whole life was one big cycle of pretending before I met you. Pretending that I was okay with never having a lover before; ignoring the suffocating pit of loneliness I carried with me because of it. Pretending to be happy with the life that I lived, a simple one. Pretending to look forward to the life that lay before me.

Since the second I met you though Arabella, I haven't pretended for a second. I don't--didn't--need to around you. You snapped me out of the character I had played for twenty-two years. I don't know--I can't--be that person anymore.

So here's the truth: I'm angry.

I'm angry at you, at myself, at the world for not even giving me a proper goodbye. I got a taste, only a taste of a life with you. God knows that I should be grateful even for that slight taste, but I help but be greedy for more. Because it was never meant to be this way, we were both supposed to die as wrinkly, old ladies. You weren't supposed to die alone in a field, in pain.

Every and any bit of happiness we had got stolen from us as a result of this war. Our families were ripped apart. We lost friends both over there and back home. We lost our innocence. We lost our sense of safety and comfort. You lost your life.

You were the last goddamn person who deserved to die for this country. You were supposed to live, this entire time I was sure that if one of us died it was going to be me. I was always closer to discovery than you ever were. I was worse at training and fighting, so if it came to a fight, it would be me who would go.

To be honest, I was alright with that. It's selfish of me to think that way but I'd rather be the one gone than have to endure a life without you. To compensate for that, I've been filling my days with memories of you.

I've been staying in London, at your flat. I'm actually sitting at your vanity right now. It's nice to be able to see this side of you, the careless side, where you weren't in fear. August has been taking me to your favorite places. Your life in London was beyond wonderful. You deserve no less than you had here.

I can't stop thinking about you, about the life you'll never live again, about the dresses in your closet I will never see you wear, about the brush that will never touch your gorgeous hair again.

Damn you, Arabella, because even when you're gone, you're still saving me. I don't know what I would have done had you not written that letter to me. I might not have gotten mine, but you got your goodbye. That gives me peace.

I hope you have peace up there, with your father. I'm sure God was overjoyed to welcome his angel back home. I guess that gives me peace too, knowing that you're safe at last. I just wish I had more time with you. I wish you got to love you better, longer.