After You

Willow

My one true love,

Despite assuring us that our letters to you weren't being graded, Bernie read mine and handed it back to me. The disapproving frown on her face was almost a carbon copy of Mrs Newton when she reads anything I've written; I was waiting for her to come out with "brevity is the soul of wit" or any one of Mrs Newton's choice insults for whatever I set down on her desk.

What she actually said was even more offensive.

She smiled at me – she actually smiled while saying this, to give you some idea of what an awful bereavement counsellor she makes – and told me that I was masking my true feelings with "big words and hyperemotional phrasing". Apparently, my words to you didn't come across as genuine in the slightest.

It proves my point, doesn't it? People don't understand the love we had for each other. We shared something so intense, so different, and people don't like different. It terrifies them. For two seventeen-year-olds to share a love that burns so brightly for such a short space of time, it threatens those who have never experienced this. It makes them jealous.

You and I were always like Romeo and Juliet. I know it was never our favourite Shakespeare play – everyone loved Romeo and Juliet, whereas we preferred the lesser-known works, because you really feel a sense of knowing the playwright in a much deeper, more intimate way than by reading the same material everyone reads for GCSE English Literature. At least, that's what you always said. Still, I feel that we embody them, in a way. Young lovers, their time together doomed to be tragically short, torn apart by death.

I'm almost nervous to say this, as I fear the repercussions when this is read by Bernie, but I promised to be open and honest with you. For a short time after your death, I considered joining you. It will seem ridiculous to so many people, but to me it made sense. We were made for each other, and made to be together into eternity. The thought of carrying on without you seemed like a living nightmare; to never feel happiness again.

But I will carry on, Alfie, because I must. I will carry on for both of us, and for our friends. I know that Finn would be lost if I was to die too. For such a long time, the three of us were the inseparable trio. If nothing else, I will carry on now for Finn, and I know that he is carrying on for me too. You've been so close to him for such a long time, it's little wonder your death is hitting us both so hard.

In this week's session, Bernie asked me if I'd thought too much about why you did what you did. I told her that I hadn't, and that I didn't particularly want to. All I know is that there must have been so much pain and anguish in your heart, my love, and though I wish beyond wishing that you could have told me what was happening in that beautiful head of yours to make you want to leave us all, and to leave me, I don't judge your decision. That's my greatest worry.

I told you once that I thought suicide was selfish. I wish I could take it back, Alfie. No-one could ever call you selfish, my darling. You were utterly selfless; so consumed with thoughts of helping others that your own thoughts and feelings would take a back seat. I begged you to put yourself first for once, but you never did. I sometimes wonder whether, if I'd pushed a little harder, you might still be here.

I can't allow myself to become consumed with such thoughts, or the guilt will overwhelm me. I need to carry on for your sake, and to live my life in your name. If nothing else, I'll make sure the world knows that the love we had was like a star in supernova – too intense and too bright to be more than a flash in this world, but somewhere, light years away, it will last for all eternity.

Love always,

Your Willow.