❝love, Louis.❞ [l.t.]

second

rasasvada (n.) the taste of bliss in the absence of all thoughts.

Dear Mad,

I realized the way I started my last letter was too formal of a greeting. I rarely ever called you Madaline. You remember that, don't you? I only called you Madaline when I wanted you to truly listen to whatever I was saying. You hated your first name but god, baby, it fit you. Madaline. Writing your name feels nice, like the pencil is supposed to move this way. Madaline. M a d a l i n e. MADALINE.

Okay, okay, I'll stop now.

I just added another definition at the top of the page, since I had a gut feeling that you liked it in the last one. This one just came to my mind because I was just speaking about your name; that's my rasasvada. Your name holds all the bliss and pleasure I need. I've been absence of all thoughts for a while now. Ever since...

Dr. Napeer said my last letter was process on it's way, so he thought it'd be best if I wrote another one. However today I'm not at that shitty cafe, but at home. Sitting at the dining table beside the window; I moved it over there after I slammed my toe into the leg of it for the last time making my way into the living room. You haven't seen it there, but I'm wondering why we didn't set it here in the first place. I can see out to the backyard, to the tree swings I made that one summer. The ropes are dirty from all the months they've hung there, and when I squint at them they look like I might need to replace them soon.

Knowing you, you would slap ten pounds on the table and smirk at me before betting that I wouldn't even go out and touch them. We both doubt I'll even go out there to sit on it at all, ever again. You were the last one to sit there; I think you were in that floral dress you bought that weekend we traveled to Vienna. I have a good memory, don't I?

Being at home, though, means I can cry in private if I need to. I haven't left the house in a while, the only places I went to yesterday were the supermarket and Dr. Napeer's office. Speaking of him again, he wanted to take your letter from me. I was smart enough not to bring it with me, so he was out of luck. You have it with you now, I'm assuming. He could never take the letter from me to you. It's not his, it's yours. Yours. And if you couldn't have it, so help me god, no one could.

Fuck, Mads, what I would do to see you right now. I can see the drips of gold nail polish you accidentally got on the table a few years ago and I miss laughing with you about it. You felt so bad since it was brand new at that time, but I wasn't upset with you. You were frantic about getting it cleaned up, but I told you not to touch it. I know you didn't have a clue about why I wanted you to leave it, but we were making memories. It was a new house with new furniture. A new life shared by two people. And just that, a few drops of polish on the table, felt like a start of new laughs and memories we would experience together. I was practically giddy to my bones.

I was. The feeling didn't last. Now when I look at those drops my heart wrenches in my chest. I can't look at them for long, I'm afraid to. I'm so afraid Madaline. I feel lost without you. I feel apprehensive and anxious all the time now. The lady at the supermarket yesterday called me out on it. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow, and when I asked her if something was wrong, she just frowned. "You, my good boy, are a broken man." She continued bagging the boxes of cereal I had bought. It was almost like I was too pitiful to make eye contact with. It wasn't surprising to hear her say that, however. It is true. I am a broken man.

I'm broken without you.

I need to go out and smoke a fag or two. I seriously need to get the image of you out of my head. My breathing is getting all strange, and my hands... they feel... weak. I'm going to start shaking and crying like a baby if I don't get you out for the time being. I'm sorry, babydoll. I'll write again.

love, Louis.

****

Sorry I haven't been able to update in a while, even though these chapters seem quite random and weird, I'm hoping you liked hearing a bit more of Louis' thoughts about missing his precious Madaline.

Oh, and if you were wondering, a fag is a cigarette. I used British slang, so it might look weird to a few! .x