To my Dearest Friend

Still not sure

Dear Cyril,

Let's not dance around it shall we? We have danced plenty of times. I am not angry, I love you, I always will. But you have shattered my perception of us. You have damaged my trust, love and respect. I can't love you when you are constantly breaking my heart. I see you don't feel the same ways I do. That is alright, I might have wanted to know that earlier on but I get that you don't want to commit to us. Especially now that you're so far away. It is evident that I'm just your friend, not your dearest, not your rain, not your sunlight, not your life, not your sadness, not your happiness. I am a nothing in your eyes and I'll happily serve that role for you but don't pretend I'm more to you. Saying all this. I want you to know this.

You'll always stay my dearest, my rain, my sunlight, my life, my sadness, my happiness, my smile, my tears, my scars, my wounds, my heart, my fire, my ice. Even when I have chosen to ignore it no one will truly and perfectly replace you. I love you. Je T'aime. I love you, not like.

I might say this too late but still Cyril. I thought you knew me. I know you, better than anybody. I know the expression on your face while reading this. I don't know if you'll want to continue to send letters. If I'm honest I would prefer to do so. But you can choose. Abandon me completely or with allow me to remember you.

Yves Montague

I read the letter and with every word my world seems to collapse a little more. It's like I'm trying to renovate an old ruin, while somebody is tearing it down. Did I really do this to him? Did I realise what I was doing? I'm second guessing so much now. I love him, I always have, just in a different way. Maybe a less pure way but I never meant to destroy his heart. I would have given my heart for him to feel another way. And still, he isn't wrong. I've been foolish, I've been blindsided by glamour. I don't want to lose him but I feel like I cannot fix this through letters on a page. It's so superficial, it doesn't carry the same meaning. I'm sure Yves wouldn't have the heart to say it to my face. But maybe he's right and I don't know him.

'Is that a letter from him?' Émile asks while pouring me a glass of bourbon. I nod. 'I see you're not pleased with the content.' I smile. 'It's alright. I don't need to talk about it.' he sits down beside me. He gently touches my hair. 'I'm always here.' I grab his hand and shortly squeeze it. 'I know.' He rests his head on my chest and still when he sits in this position my whole body instinctively knows that this person must be Yves. The gentle touch of my jawbone, the slow heartbeat, the soft Lashes I have felt so many times. I know my Yves anywhere. I could be deaf and blind and recognise him. And still I kid myself trying to replace him with somebody who deserves more than to be a simple replacement.

'Will you come with me to the chateau?' Émile asks softly. 'why? 'I would like you to be with me.' I sigh. 'I'll be there.' 'When will we leave?' 'In two days. I'm sorry for telling you this late.' 'It's alright.' I embrace him but I feel guilty every time I do. I feel a lone tear fall from my cheek. If I could take all of these I have done, have said will do back I would do it without hesitation. If I could switch this for being back in England I would do it in a heartbeat. But what about Émile, it feels like he has been searching for something or someone to hold unto in the storm of his life. What would have happened to him?