Hopelessly Devoted - Bradley Will Simpson.

Letter Twelve.

Elyssia;

I’ve never been all that good with the literary art, so please excuse me if this sounds like a toddler learning to speak.

If I am to be correct, this letter is to be delivered to you around our five month anniversary. Five months since my death.

Although this may seem insignificant to the majority, to the minority – us, well at least me – it’s everything. It’ll have been, by the time you get this, five months since I’ve felt even remotely happy, blissfully happy. The adrenaline from being onstage with the boys only lasts so long.

I can’t even begin to explain the purpose of this letter, so I’ll get to it in due time. For now, I’d like to cast your mind back. Do you remember when we first met, El? Not the first meeting that you like to refer to, but the very very first.

You always try to make yourself seem ‘less wimpy’ but that’s one of the things I admire most about you, not to mention love. You always try to deny being a fan of us before you knew me personally to help your ‘street cred’ but baby we both know that’s a lie.

You were the one that was pushed down at one of our shows, you were the one that wasn’t helped by anyone. You were the one that, in a fit of tears, furiously pushed your way out. I noticed you, from up on that stage. I noticed how you were so fragile, so delicate, your confidence and happiness smashed to pieces in mere seconds.

You were the one I found sobbing amongst the dustbins, stating that’s where you belonged. I kept a distant eye on you for a while, through the watchful aid of social media. The next time we met, you were a changed girl. You were the one I found causing havoc wherever she went, the one everyone had given up on. I was the one who tried to calm you, I was the one that succeeded – so I like to think.

There’s not a day gone by where I regret it, essentially saving you from yourself, as you put it. Having you in my life, Elyssia, is indescribable. Some people only strive for the materialistic, disregarding the latter. You gave me everything I could ever have hoped for, and I know how cliché and overplayed this sounds. I know, baby.

You didn’t view me as Brad from The Vamps, a million fans and a platinum selling album. You viewed me as Bradley, the weird guy you couldn’t avoid, whom shouted at the football and cried at rom-coms. You looked past the immediate joker façade, and worked your way into my core, and brought out the best in me. You, and solely you.

I couldn’t help but think of our future, our future that was shining oh so blindingly from the get-go until the bitter end. During those lazy nights in front of the fire with some reality show creating a homely ambience, I never did tell you what I dreamt about when we inevitably drifted off into Dreamland. I dreamt of us, for us.

I dreamt of how we’d move out and into a place of our own, how I’d struggle with the DIY work and you’d be laughing as you unpacked more boxes. I dreamt of how we’d host cheesy bi-weekly movie nights with the boys, and kicking their hyper asses out of our house at three in the morning. I dreamt of picking out carpet patterns with you, actually everything even down to the kitchen sink. Picking out future wedding china and a petite little cot that would fit perfectly at the foot of our bed.

I dreamt of how I’d stand at the foot of the long room, fingers interlocking nervously as I awaited your arrival. I dreamt of how Connor would be the one to reassure me everything would work out, and how I’d believe him undoubtedly. I dreamt of how you’d arrive and everyone would arise, staring at you in awe. The girl of whom everyone had given up hope, gleaming brighter than even the most blinding of diamonds. The crisp white would accentuate you perfectly, and I dreamt of how you’d relax as our hands met at your completion of gracing the petal-dominated carpet, your carefully painted rose lips curling into a genuine smile. I dreamt of how I’d lift the thin mesh fabric separating your skin from my own, and our eyes would properly meet, and I’d try to find which emotion was at the forefront of your pretty little mind. I dreamt of how I’d repeat the words which tied myself to you forevermore, and I’d watch you do the same, each word laced with sincerity. I dreamt of how I’d gently press my lips to yours once more, and everyone would applaud incessantly. I dreamt of how we’d be so happy, so happy that nothing could dim our sparkle.