Missing You...

Chapter Nineteen

Monday, 8th December 1980

Dear Paul,

I wish that I could explain to you how much you mean to me. I was a completely different person before we met. I was rough, rebellious, never fully trusting another person. You've shown me that it's OK to be who I am, and that the people who really love me won't think any less of me for it. 

That's you, Paul - the one who really loves me, and I certainly hope you don't think any less of me.

I wish I could tell you how much I love you. But there just aren't words, are there? The friendship we have is the kind that only comes along once in a lifetime. The kind where we can know what the other thinks and feels without saying a word. You mean everything to me - there really isn't another way to put it. 

I remember the day we met, when I was playing my first gig at a church fete. You were there in the audience watching me. You had such a strange look on your face - kind of lost and yearning - and you applauded the loudest when I finished my song. (Don't try to deny that. I know it was you.) That moment when you came to visit me after the fete was one of the most special and most precious moments of my life. It always has been my favourite memory.

Until now. 

You did it again, McCartney. You came and visited me after a special event, totally unexpected and without so much as a bit of notice. You're funny like that, Paul. I love being with you.

I wish you nothing but the best in your new life. It breaks my heart knowing that I won't see you every day - if ever again. I genuinely hope that you find all the happiness you deserve. You gave me all the contentment and joy that I needed, so now it's time that you received some too. 

I wish you luck in finding your so well deserved happiness.

But I'm scared. I know it's selfish, but I need you. And I need you to need me. It terrifies me that you could find someone else to pass the time with just talking like we have in your new life. Your friendship means more to me than anything else ever has, and I would be completely lost without it. I would like to think that I'm irreplaceable to you, and that there isn't another person who could take my place in your life. But I've never thought that highly of myself.

Thank you for spending time with though - these last few days have been absolutely magical. You made me feel so much happier than any amount of money or any beautiful woman could ever do. You've always been good at cheering me up, haven't you?

If I could have one wish then it would be for you to stay with me. I even considered going back to that silly wishing tree and begging for some sort of miracle. I need you, Paul, you know I do - so why are you leaving me so suddenly? One week and a few days wasn't enough. I need you everyday of my life. Those ten years we were separated were the most devastating and heartbreaking years I've ever experienced. I always felt empty and I never knew why.

Then you came back. You introduced love, fun, and happiness back into my life.

But now you're leaving and I'm sad about that - very sad - but I'm sure it's for the best. You have your life and I have mine. Just promise me one thing.

Promise we can still be best friends... forever. 

Please don't replace me. Please remember to call me when you can. I'll always answer, and I'll always be there for you. No matter what happens.

I love you so much, Paul, and I always have. Never forget that.

All my love,

John Lennon xxxx

P.S: If something terrible ever happens to you, then you can bet your bass guitar that I'll be by your side, all set to comfort you. That's a promise. And I hope you would do the same for me.

P.P.S: Thank you. 

That's all I have left to say. 

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Paul wiped his weepy eyes with the back of his hand. John had never sent him a special letter before, not even when they were still in The Beatles, and this letter was particularly lovely. Even though he was a song writer John had never really expressed himself properly, but now here he was, writing down his feelings in such a wonderful way, and Paul had just finished reading them.

Paul closed the lovely letter. He fingered at the thin edge of the paper. He traced every penned line of the cartoon drawing on the front. He stroked John's carefully inked face. 

"What am I doing?" Paul said, starting to sob again. "I can't leave. You need me, don't you, John? And I need you... ever so much."

Paul proceeded to fold up the paper and was about to shove it in his coat pocket, when he suddenly noticed something - something scribbled on the back of the letter. He turned it over, wondering why on earth John had written on the back. His eyes skimmed the message. He was really tired and his head was throbbing with a migraine, but he still managed to read it.

He paused halfway through.

He reread the message, wondering if he was still delirious with grief and seeing things.

No, the message was real. It was there, black and white, clear as crystal.

"Oh, my God, John," Paul whispered. "Why did you have to do that?"

There was another tiny drawing on the back, just beside this second message. It was a bunch of red roses, carefully coloured in with red felt-tip pen. Underneath the roses was a drawing of a small pink heart, followed by a small silver picture of a gun, and finally a pair of hands clasped together.

"John, you're such a rascal," Paul said, laughing despite the tears trickling down his face. "But I'm glad you are otherwise I wouldn't know where to put myself."

The message was actually a poem, illustrated by the little drawings.

Here's what it said:

Roses are red,

Paul's heart is kind,

As if I'd die,

And leave you behind!

Don't worry, Paulie,

No need to feel blue.

No matter what happens,

I'll be there for you.

Go on your tour,

Make your dreams come true.

Remember I'm always here,

Cheering just for you.

Paul folded up the letter and put it carefully in his pocket. He laid a hand on his heart. He could feel it thumping in his chest, the beat steady and constant like a drum. He thought about everything John had said in his letters. He thought about the drawing on the front. He thought about the poem. Most of all, he thought about John.

"I'm always here too, Johnny," Paul whispered, as if he was praying. "No matter what happens, whether you stay of go, I'll always be with you. I'm your best friend, your little brother, and your number one fan. I'll go on my tour, like you said, but every song I sing will be for you - my John."

Paul reached into his other pocket and pulled out a photograph. It was the photograph of the much younger looking John he'd found the night he had been going through all of his old things. Looking at this photo brought back more memories, and they flooded Paul's mind, seeping into every part of his mind and soul. He gazed at the photo and smiled. 'John' smiled back.

Paul sighed heavily, hands clasped in his lap. "I love you, John. Always have, always will."