Of Love And Letters

Prologue

[Update 02.24.16]

A/N: So this was my first ever story on wattpad which I promptly ignored after a mere two or so chapters. You see, I have this bad habit of never finishing something I start and apparently that long list includes potential stories as well. But I've decided to be more proactive on the whole writing thing so I'm aiming at a goal of finishing at least one story. And what better not then my very first one on here?

So yeah, enjoy.

Stay reading,
Brenda

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The girl bursts through the door, trying her very best not to break down. This moment, its the last one and she needs to remain composed in order to remember it all. The last time she'd inhale the heady scent of fresh cut grass which seemed to always hug her house. The last time to stand on the fading white porch floor.

The last time for everything really because her world as she knew it was ending.

A little dramatic?

Maybe, but you can't really blame her.
The sleepy coastal town of Bedford, New York was her past - where she'd spent a happy fourteen years, one memorable memory of bad dares and laughter at a time. Moreover, her present as well - where she just finished her first year of junior high with her two bestest friends in the whole wide world as promised. Too bad her future isn't here - where its supposed to be. She would never experience a nerve wrecking first day at the local highschool, never experience the freedom of driving to and from school, never get detention.

First football game.

Prom.

Graduation.

The mere thought of all these once potential memories becoming no more finally causes the tears she'd held at bay to flow freely. Preoccupied and distressed, she doesn't notice the door open nor hear the steps of the person walking towards her. He watches her silently, letting her mourn for a life they both know will no longer happen. Once the tears start to subside does he finally allow himself to speak.

"You okay?" He asks timidly, partly in lack of anything meaningful to say and partly because he has to know.

Startled, she looks to her side and finds him, the one always there. Rather than answer, she stares at him intently, hoping the sentiments waging war on both head and heart are conveyed through her eyes. They're too much, too many to explain; this infuriating moment where words wouldn't, couldn't do justice. But unlike she, he welcomes their silent gazes, enjoying this gift of being able to unabashedly stare into her eyes and not having to explain himself for it.

A little selfish?

Maybe, but you can't really blame him.

For as long as he'd known her, he had to share her with everyone else. He sure as hell is going to savor his last few moments with her. They engage in a heated battle of stares riddled with unspoken words and emotions begging to be snatched from the unknown space between them.

Anguish
I don't want to go.
Sadness
But you have to.
Reluctance
I know.
Want
You're all -- (She doesn't notice the last one, never has).

All too soon, she rips her gaze away, much to his despair.

This was torture.

The girl he loves is right next to him and he can't even find the words to tell her how he feels much less muster up any strength to do so. He doesn't even expect anything in return, whether it be in form of her returning his feelings and so on. She's leaving and he wants her to know but he can't seem to say anything.

He just wants her to know.

Defeated, he joins her in the pursuit of avidly staring at the house across the street. God, the boy thinks to himself, he's such a coward.

"Will you do something for me?" She asks, finally breaking their silence.

The boy nods fervently.

"Anything," comes the answer voicing his desires. Its a shame she has no idea.

The girl reaches into her back pocket then hands him a crisp, white envelope. In doing so, its as if the world's doing him a favor, suddenly occurring in slow motion as he makes sure to etch every single detail forever into his mind. The zephyr blowing her hair, a mesmeric sight reminding him of gentle ripples in a pond. The still there tears causing her emerald eyes to sparkle even more so than usual. The softness of her hands that come in contact with his as he receives her favor. The painful tugging at his heart when he see's who its for.

Never in his life has he felt this way. Never in his life has he absolutely loathed his character. Never in his life has he hated himself more than he does now. It makes him wonder in awe but mostly fear at how these abstract emotions, mere words, feel physically heavy - pulling him further and further into an abyss deeper and darker than any chthonic imaginable.

He's never going to tell her.

He's never going to tell her because the battle's already been won.

And he?

Well..

He's the loser.