After You

Max

Dear Alfie,

Does love die?

It sounds like the beginning of one of our great philosophical debates (and by "great", I mean the sort of debate that played out over Facebook message at three in the morning when neither of us could sleep), but it's a genuine question. If two people are in love, and one of those people dies, does the love die with them? Is it supposed to?

I'm skirting around the issue for reasons unknown. I know you aren't reading these letters, no matter how much comfort I take from the notion that you might be. There is no reason for me not to come out and say it, and yet I'm hesitating, for fear that you'll be hurt. If you are able to read this – as a ghost or a spirit or some kind of spectral energy that takes the time to read my letters – I have no doubt you already know exactly what I'm going to tell you. There is no logical reason for me not to spit it out, and yet I still can't bring myself to do it.

Willow and Finn have kissed.

God, that sounds so pathetic. It sounds like I'm telling tales on them. I remember in my old secondary school, back in Year Eight, when it was all the rage to call one person your girlfriend and then to kiss another, just to create some gossip and drama. The original girlfriend's friends would inevitably see the kiss and rush back to tell the jilted teenage lover, leaving her devastated and the entire school talking about love and betrayal, conveniently forgetting that all of the players in this game would have moved onto new people by the morning.

I'm not trying to gossip, and I'm not telling tales. Again, if you are some kind of letter-reading ghost/spirit/spectral energy, I'm not sure quite what I'd expect you to do. It's not like you can posthumously break up with Willow, and that isn't what I'd want, anyway. It isn't even that I felt you ought to know. I'm just confused.

Willow showed me the first letter she wrote to you after the initial bereavement counselling session. She showed everyone, actually. She put it up as her status the other day. The cynic in me thinks it's guilt. If she can convince everyone else that she is so in love with you and so eternally faithful to you, maybe she can convince herself that the kiss I saw was a momentary indiscretion that means nothing. Maybe she's trying to tell herself it isn't cheating.

Is it? See, this is the dilemma I'm having.

I don't know why, as it isn't even my dilemma to have. Of all the things that could keep me up at night, an existential debate with myself about whether you can cheat on a dead person is pretty sad. It doesn't really matter. I've never had anyone to cheat on, never mind a dead person. Not that I ever would cheat. I don't know why I feel it necessary to clarify that; it's not like you're judging me based on this letter. It's not like you're reading this letter at all.

I'm so confused.

I don't know what's more worrying; the fact that Willow kissed Finn, or the fact that I wasn't surprised by it in the slightest.

There's always been something there, and I think you spotted it too. You never said anything – you never would have done; you wouldn't have wanted to hurt Willow or Finn – but there was definitely something in your eyes. Sometimes they'd be explicit with it; they'd flirt right in front of you. They tried to be subtle, but anyone versed in romance novels could spot it. The mistake they made was forgetting that you're every bit as well-versed in romantic literature as Willow is, and so am I.

And yet you never called them out on it. I don't know what that suggests. Did you not see it as flirting, or did you wilfully ignore it? Things were good with Willow; I can't say I'd have blamed you for ignoring it in favour of an easy life. Maybe you were used to it.

Maybe I'm on the wrong track completely. I never claimed to be a mind-reader; I could be misreading everyone's intentions here. I probably am. Now would be a great time for one of your pearls of wisdom.

Nothing?

It was worth a try.

Max