Dear Lilith,
Don't you find this mildly amusing? A dead person, someone who can no longer see, hear and feel, talking to you through these now worthless words? I must admit that the last part is nothing but a blatant lie. A lie, because I must still feel and I am sure I do. It is after all my feelings which drove me to such extremities to talk to you, my Lilith.
Confound death, even the most diabolical presence known to man can now not prevent me from talking to you and telling you all my thoughts, my wishes, my hopes and all my dreams.
You must be wondering why I dared call these letters, the witnesses to my last moments as a living being worthless. Well, the fact is that they are to an extent not. They're not worthless, for they give me life after death, and more importantly they enable me to talk to the love of my... afterlife.
Now that we have gotten that unnecessary pun over with, let us talk about the title of this letter to you.
Sonder.
Everyone must have felt it at some other the other time. The very sudden and spectacular awareness that the lives of other people are as detailed and vivid as our own. The knowledge that the smile of the homeless man you saw on the way back from work has a story of its own. The instinctive knowing that the crying woman in the subway has a life as important to her as yours is to you, that every word, smile, frown, thought and action has a history as archaic and important as of the very cosmos itself.
For some people, the feeling of sonder is especially aggravated if it is about a specific person. A person who is usually the very apple of your eye. The person whose life you constantly wonder about, think about and crave to be a significant part of.
They are so caught up in every thing the person does, feels and is. They are curious enough about them to want to know what their every thought and fear is and to know what their very soul is made up of. This, my Lilith, you make me relate to.
Undoubtedly these eerie, albeit unimportant letter shall result in your burning the rest, but I must tell you this, my dear Lilith.
You were my source of both wonder and sonder and miraculously, even in death, you still are.
Posthumously Yours,
Damien
YOU ARE READING
Posthumously Yours.
Short StoryA story of passion after purgatory, infatuation after inferno and love, after life. A tale of two souls ; one , sentient and alive, the other inert and otherworldly. " Who knew one could fall in love, being no more? " The telling of why and how Dami...
