To my Dearest Friend

How to forgive

Cyril Courtenay

"Forgive me father for I have sinned" I say, clutching the rosary near my heart that is beating full of fear and sadness. 'I have been going through a bad time, I have not lived like a righteous man, I have hurt people that are important to me, I have hurt the ones I loved most. But even when I feel penance it feels like he has forsaken me. I feel like I am stranded somewhere, no longer allowed to feel His grace. Like this is a punishment, while I thought I was forgiven, I am beginning to doubt Him. I had a friend who denied His existence and I believe that he might not be wrong. Perhaps I am angry at God because of my own foolishness, but I feel hollow.' I say tears streaming down my face our friend is the devil's temptation.

I look up, Yves is the devil's temptation, I feel the anger set in and everything seems to slow down as I stand up and walk out of the cofessional. I walk through the benches of the church. Seeing feeling the judging eyes of mary on my back, they pierce through my heart as if they are knives. But I don't change my arrogant stance, I will turn my back on the church if my Yves is the devil's temptation. I will turn my back of myself, my soul, my faith. I will turn my back on the world. I will live in seclusions just to prevent any other casualties.

I walk out of the big doors of the church, the weight of shame no longer a burden I need to carry but now it is something I have decided to wear and I will forever need to. It is my own fault. I look at the church one last time before deciding not to return to it. I made the mistakes and God doesn't have the right to make them better, that is my responsibility. I used him as an excuse to make myself feel better. I need to learn to live with this shame, nobody else. I need to learn how to fix those hearts as best as I can. And with Yves that might include leaving him alone with a modest smile. And Émile perhaps I should show him England, but nothing else. My love would destroy him. I need to find my own confession, I need to find my own penance, it's not as simple as asking for forgiveness, and that doesn't mean I don't believe in God anymore. I just believe you need to do more than exist to be a good person, to be forgiven. And If more people would believe that perhaps I would not have turned out such an awful recluse.

The rain clears and the sun winks at us from behind it's clouds. I smile, good morning my Yves. Perhaps I need to be more like him. Perhaps he never really was wrong, perhaps it was not only his bad experience that made him hate the church so much, perhaps he just knew more than I know. I smile, even when he's not here Yves helps me get back to reality, no more self-pity. You need to find your home Cyril, you need to find happiness and put back the vases you've shattered. If it's your fault it won't matter if you get cut by the shattered mirrors so pick up those beautiful pieces Cyril and fix it. Fix the things you have broken.

I look at the blank page in my typewriter and conclude that's fixing mirrors and vases is easier said than done, especially when you've never done it before. I frown. My dearest Yves? Dear Yves? Yves? I don't even know how to start, I don't even know whether to send it, I don't even know what I want to say to him. I ponder over and over again, What to say to him. What would be something that wouldn't rip his heart apart again. I am not even sure where he is, where he might be. There is so much doubt floating in the space between us. He has mentioned that he is in Vienna now but I am not sure where in Vienna and I don't know how long he will be staying there. I sigh and walk to my window. and look at the busy streets of paris, it smells dry. I close my eyes and remember the countryside or England.

I smile I miss it, I never thought I would miss boring old England. I miss London, I miss fog, I miss rain that ruins your clothing, I miss the smell that tickles your sense before the rain, I miss the tall trees in from of the manor. I miss him, the hope I have given myself seems to make place for this hatred that I have always had for myself. I always seem to convince myself I don't need somebody to love me but I have had a lack of love for my whole life.

Whenever there seems to be only a spark of love I begin to prepare a fire. not realising I've had a fire that was perfect. I hate myself, I hate everything I have done to him, I hate the way I don't notice the damage I have done except when I look over my shoulder. But I have turned the knife, I have burned his bridges without asking for permission, I have ripped apart his pearl necklace. I have forsaken him. I've imagined myself God, I have imagined myself a saviour only to leave their lives in flames.

I wish Yves saw that, I wish he had locked me away. What does he think is the reason I left him? Because I wanted to? It was one of the ways I wished to save him from dammnation, I need to leave so he'd find a suitable bachelorette and his father would be proud. And yes I have made the mistake of writing him, I have made the mistake of fooling myself thinking I could love him from afar. I thought I could love him without hurting him, without hurting his father, without ripping apart that family. I feel nasesue a as I grab the picture of Yves. It looks serious, I open the back of frame and it reveals a second picture, one which was actually a mistake, it was one that was a bit blurry but he's laughing. He exudes joy and happiness. I smile with tears in my eyes. I am sorry my love. I wish you a good life.