DEAR ERIK
wilhelm
♡
Wille has been sitting in front of the blank, crumpled piece of paper for hours, now. He didn't even notice how fast the time passed; it was already dark outside and all the light he had, was what came from the small lamp on his desk, but he couldn't bring himself to care; he was so lost in his thoughts. The only instruction Boris gave him, was to write his feelings out, but how could he choose which to tell about, when he was feeling everything all at once?
A frustrated sigh left his mouth. The quiet, yet so emotional sound filled the room with agony and depression. Wille wanted to rip the paper apart with his trempling hands; he had so, so much on his mind, and he still couldn't force a single word out of himself. In hopes of easing some pain from his back, he began to fidgeting in his seat, trying to find a bit more comfortable position; he'll be spending his entire night there, if someone doesn't come to his rescue, and drags him down for dinner.
He grabbed his pen, and held it on the paper; Dear Erik, it read, since he was supposed to write a letter for his forever gone, dead brother, so figured that he should start with something like this. He never called Erik 'dear' before; he barely even greeted him, when they texted - but this situation was different than texting, and not just because he wasn't typing on his phone.
He had to face with the stripped truth, that this time, Erik won't answer. For the first time in his entire life; Erik won't even read, what Wille will be sending him. It will remain unopened for an eternity. His words are going to hang in the air forever; his letter will stay still in the darkness of it's envelope until the sky breaks with the collaps of the stars, and the world finally ends.
Dear Erik, his own voice echoed in his head, as he imagined himself ever reading it out loud. Just to be thinking about it felt so strange; unreal, even. The words didn't sound right from his mouth. Dear Erik; it was too serious. Too exposed; too much - nothing like them, and Wille was losing it.
Tears burned his eyes as he stared at the still empty page that was decored with a doodle; his usually cursive and well formed letters, now made one, messy stain on the white sheet. If he didn't know what he wrote, he wouldn't be able to recognize those words.
Dear Erik,
You wouldn't be proud if you saw me today - he signed with careful moves, concentrating so hard, he even bit his breath back - I'm a mess - he continued with a confession - This is also a mess. I don't even know what I'm doing. You deserve better than that. You deserve a proper goodbye, a wish for your peace, but I can't give it to you. I can't say goodbye, not yet; I can't let you go this soon, when it feels like you were still there yesterday. I'm holding onto your memory so desperately, sometimes I forget that we won't make any more. You're gone. You left. You passed down all your duties alongside that heavy crown, leaving me miserable and clueless. And Erik, I know it wasn't your choice, but also wasn't your time to go just yet, and I am so alone.
A few of his tears fall onto the paper, wetting the thin fabric until it was almost completely see trough, flowing the words together. His vision was a confluented blur; he could barely even see the torn page in front of himself, but it didn't stop him in writing. He finally had some useful thoughts to begin with, at least.
I know I can't figure it all by myself, and nobody's able to help. Many things has happened since you crashed with that stupid car I always encouraged you to drive faster. There's no day I don't blame myself for your death, Erik. I can't stop thinking about all the what if's. What if I never said that you're a pussy for driving slow and safe. What if I never asked you why you bought such a fancy car, if you don't even dare to drive it the way it was supposed to be driven. What if I never called you a bad driver for not breaking the law everytime you sit behind the wheels. I wish you came back and told me it wasn't my fault.
