Days of Darkness

Prologue

The letter fell out of my tattered copy of "Pride and Prejudice" as if by God himself. I snatched it up without hesitation to chuck it back where it belonged when I couldn't help but glance down at it. A single sheet of lined paper covered in my own recognizable scrawl. I unfolded it to an all too familiar tearstained confession of love, regret, and goodbye. One of the seemingly endless letters I wrote to Gavin, with the distinction of being the last in the series that ended abruptly two months ago. I sucked in a breath. Was I ready for this painful reminder of what would never be?

10/01/18

Gavin Daniel Lawrence,

The nostalgia is strangling me tonight. Its pressing down on my windpipes, filling my chest with a pain I cannot stomach. A year ago, on this very day, you were seated somewhere thinking of me. You were spending time putting pen to paper to convince me I was still in your heart. You were groaning, agonizing, and stamping your foot trying to weave together a tapestry of words to make me fall right back into love with you, when unbeknownst to us both, I never stopped.

I cannot believe that I blinked and a year flew by, no warning, no pauses, just full speed ahead. Who knows where we will be in another 365 days? All I can say is that I hope I am somewhere with your arms wrapped securely around me.

I imagine you are spending this particular first day of October with her. She, the girl you took to our park. No, not to our park, to THE park, because isn't that the point? You were never mine to begin with and neither was our small piece of sanctuary. I can't say it doesn't split me wide open, an endlessly expansive chasm of pain, that seems as though it will never heal. However, the feeling I get when I see you radiantly happy, smiling, laughing, and in love is unlike any other. I want that for you. Do you think I would be sitting here ripping myself to pieces if I didn't? I don't hold anything against her. I only wish I could tell her, implore her, plead with her to take care of your heart. To treasure it. To never take it for granted. To realize that although I would give anything to be your everything, to be the keeper of your heart and of your love, she is. To grasp that she is the luckiest girl in the universe to have the honor to do so.

Once I tried to describe what you are like to someone, and all I could come up with was home. You made me feel at home. Love is home. Home is you. How do I give up on that? I will continue to search for a new home.

I am immensely and unbearably tired. I am not angry. I am not even envious. Simply tired. My heart aches. I feel a sense of empathy for myself unlike any other. If only I could properly let go and allow us each to be happy apart. Everything would be so much simpler if I could move on. It would be the healthy thing to do. That way, if we did ever find our way back to each other, I wouldn't be sitting, waiting. I once told you, "I don't want to keep waiting for you to want to wait for me" and I mean that. I fear if I continue to write you letters, obsessively, passionately, desperately, it will only stoke the fire in my soul for you. Yet, if I allowed it to cool down to embers, I might just be able to douse them in water completely. I have to pose reminders to myself:

1) You are in love, and NOT with me

2) You have no interest in contacting me because it would be easy enough for you to pick up the phone, write a letter, or get in the car and drive to me

3) I am a nineteen-year-old who needs to look for a deeper meaning to life than being madly in love with a senior in high school

4) I need to let you go, for me.

You see, I know I initially began to write these letters because I assumed once we had gotten together, I could give them to you as a grand gesture of how much I missed you and never strayed from my devotion. But for this final one, maybe it would be best for me to send it. To tell you everything and expect nothing. To truly put an end to the small spark of hope that flares in my chest each minute of the day.