My Policeman - A possible Sequel

VI - 2

Peacehaven, December 1999

Why write again? Why risking things again, by writing it down? Maybe because I've always lived with the risk. And I'm not talking about my trochaic heart. I'm talking about my policeman. My joy. I don't even have to call him 'my policeman' anymore. Things have changed and it's not a crime anymore, but he'll still always be my policeman. Always. He's still trying to spend every second with me. He's trying to gather my attention all the day with jokes, silly grimaces or just with his well-chosen words. It's cute and I enjoy it. I won't tell him that he already has my full attention by just entering the room. And even when he's next door, cooking or talking to the doctor. I mean I don't have anything else I could and want to pay attention on. I've been in this room for years now and nothing big ever changed. Just that my policeman's old uniform is hanging on the coat peg next to the door and not one of Marion's dresses any more.

Today the doctor came again. After my policeman he's the person I see the most. I'm getting better, I'm able to hold a pen and write and I can talk. Not much, but enough. The doctor was happy. Happy with me and how it's going. But there was a 'but', there always is. The new medication is good for me, BUT after a time, my body will get used to it and it won't have any effect anymore. At this point it will go down very fast. But we knew. We all knew. Me, the doctor, my policeman. We just thought that it'd be better for me to live my last days without much pain and as strong as the medicine could make me.

I heard my policeman calling Marion a few days after she had left. I don't remember a lot; I was half asleep and still very weak in general. They were talking about the things Marion left here and how she'd get them. I guess my policeman send them to her, because I wasn't aware of her showing up here. Anyway, he had her on speaker, because he was cooking a soup for me while. One part of their talk I remember word by word, because it shattered my heart.

"I'm sorry, I loved him more than I was supposed to."
"How much were you supposed to love him?"
"I wasn't."

I don't know what happened after that. I just drowned in my thoughts. Was he ashamed for loving me? Does he wish to not love me? I know that our story won't have a happy ending. I always knew it, but why not enjoy things as long as they're there? But I'm sure that in some parallel universe we can be together happily. Maybe even married. Maybe it doesn't even have to be a parallel universe. Maybe just some time needs to fly by, so the people finally realise that love is what the world needs most, but also what the words seems to understand the least. I hope that someone finds and publishes my diary then, so everyone can see how in love we were. Me and my policeman. Oh, if they only knew. I don't want him to ever think that we weren't meant to be. Or that that what we share is wrong. Something that feels so good can't be wrong.