Forever is Not Real: George Washington x Y/N

Chapter Three

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of the town square in full swing. Washington has left by now.

"I should write him a letter," you think as you grab the pot of ink and sit down at your desk.

Dear Washington,

You have left, and for some reason, I am sad. You have known me for only a week, but I have known you much longer. We have bonded in a way that I cannot describe. And I'm afraid I have ruined our chances to be together. I feel deep regret for how I said what I did, but I am not regretful of what I said. Life is not about regret, though. Life is not about forgiveness; it's about caring. I care about you. And for some reason, my way of showing it was to utterly dispel you on the grounds of your own home. I hope you care about me still. I don't know if I would. But you are a better person than I am. I am just so overtaken by adoration and the burden of a generation of pain. I am my mother's pain, and she is her mother's, and every other woman to have lived. Even Eve had to deal with the pain of womanhood. And I have not yet learned to deal with the pain yet. Sometimes it comes out in silent rage, sometimes it comes out in words. I am sorry to have burdened you with that pain.

I am watching out my window in the square, the same spot where you first saw me. How symbolic. I am writing this to make myself as clear as you have made yourself. I do not look for affection, nor do I expect any. I simply wanted to apologize for what I have done and the trouble I have put you through.

Best wishes for America,

Y/n l/n

You finish the letter, fold it up, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, you drop it in the post bin. A few days of wallowing by your window, occasionally stepping out to the central market to pick up vegetables and sell butter and soap scented like the founding fathers—ironically, your bestseller that day was Washington. You check with the mailman every day, making sure they didn't miss a letter addressed to you. Until today, before you can even ask, he hands you a shiny gold envelope addressed from "Nessmuk." You tear open the letter and start reading.

Dear Y/n,

I cannot say you did not hurt me when you said those things, but I can say that they gave me things to think about on the journey to the convention. I think about you all the time; I miss your reading and your smile. I got your letter quite quickly after I left; we don't move very fast when we're stopping every hour to pick up someone else's mail or something they forgot. I was reading it, and I thought back to the day we met. Which was not that day by the window; in fact, it was much earlier. Much, much earlier. Before I became who I am, and before you became who you were. You were Y/n l/n from primary school, Watson's youngest sister. I'll admit I didn't quite make myself known, so I don't expect you to remember me. But I remembered you the second I laid eyes on your smile. Those beautiful eyes and your adventurous spirit. I was enchanted. I was so enchanted that no matter how many words you threw at me, I would always look at you with adoration.

I am afraid I made a mistake when I was talking. I have always cherished my memories with you from primary school, and I didn't know if you would remember me. I want to get to know you more. What your dreams, hopes, and deepest desires are. I want to know it all. If that's alright.

Life may not be about forgiveness, but it's hard to live in a world without compassion.

Best wishes,

G. Washington

You stand in silence as you read the letter, then slowly start your walk to your desk, processing the information. You didn't remember Washington, but it's all come together now. He was Georgie. The handsome, caring, wild man from school. The one that you had liked for years. You need to tell him that you remembered. He needs to know that you feel the same way.

So you sit down and write him a response.

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i recommend putting on some sad music for the next few parts. it gets pretty deep, but its worth it. i promise. because its all worth it.