𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐔𝐬

Part 4 ~ Dear Love

Anika's Point Of View ~ 

The pen shaking in my hands. The paper is bare, still. Waiting for me to write something . . anything. 

How is it even possible? 

To have so many things in my mind that I wish to let out. So much reflection about that specific time in my life that I want to release. And yet, I still have this piece of paper unmarked. This pen of mine, hasn't yet penned. I feel my hands shaking more as flashbacks of him come back into my mind once again. Never being too far away. I was confused, sad and so hurt. I still have those scars, never leaving my being. I still have all that grief inside of me. I still have all those emotions since I left here 10 years ago. Even with all that time passing by . . I reminisce. My memories of him, the good and the painful . . I remember it all. But how I wish I didn't, how I wish I just simply couldn't.

It was awful . . all of it. 

Lisa knows, yes. She knows everything. But I don't want to put that burden on her like I did all those years ago. So, this is how I have to let it out. I'm still keeping it to myself but I feel like writing it down . . writing this letter, can help me. It's for him. But I'm unsure where this letter will end up. Will this letter even be in his hands one day? Will he ever read this letter? I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that out. I'm unsure if he still even lives here. Did he move away too? Will I see him here or somewhere else? Will I ever see him again and therefore him just continue being only in my memory. This is something I need to face. Sooner or later. I think about him but his name is something I have never spoken since I last talked to him . . that night on the beach. A name I have as well, never written down again. I never dared to. I hover my pen over the paper. I take a deep breath before I do this. It involves so much fear, so much sadness. 

I'm scared. 

I'm so fucking terrified. 

I begin to write his name on the top, left hand side of the paper. My pen imprinting it, finally. I stare at what I have just written after an entire decade. After never allowing myself to do this very thing . . there it is. Right in front of me. I read his name, whispering it as I do. 

Michael. 

I feel my heart pounding as I stare at his name. It feels as if just by seeing his name, is something incredibly forbidden for me to look at. I sit still for a few seconds before I continue as so much of me can not believe what I'm doing, what I'm seeing right now. With only fragments of me feeling glee. My pen finding the paper once again. I don't think this time around . . I just do it. It's like what I have wanted to say to him is finally out after years of keeping them inside me. Like the words that I wish to say can't get on the paper fast enough. It is just pouring out of me. I write it all down. Telling him everything. Telling him why what happened, happened. Why I did what I did. Why I left town with no further words expressed to him. My eyes beginning to water as I write. But I'm not going to stop. I must do this. I tell him I'm sorry . . even asking for forgiveness. 

But I feel as though I have no right. 

I even venture to say I have never stopped thinking about him, that I missed him. I tell him he hurt me too. It's a feeling he doesn't know about. But I want to say it. I look at the piece of paper, seeing it all written down now. It's completely covering the paper. I still can't believe I have just written all of it out. I read it back quietly to myself. Wow. This is truely not something I thought any pen of mine would ever ink. But nonetheless, something that allows me to feel some kind of relief . . but no comfort. I feel there is no such thing. I fold the paper in half, writing his name once again but this time, onto the folded part . . dating it also. 

My coffee still warm, it's art fading away from the few sips I have already taken. It's foam once plenty is almost gone. The sound around me coming back suddenly. I hear the sound of people around me talking amoung themselves. Horns of many cars passing outside and engines as they stop and start. I place the folded letter into my handbag. My pen put back into its case before I place that in the same place. I finish my coffee, walking out of the coffee shop. 

I need to get back to grandmother. 

I start my car, on my way there. I can't help but to glance over at my handbag as it sits on the passengers seat. The letter sticking out slightly. I can see it. I feel so many emotions. I can't describe. I wrote everything on that paper, I even wrote that I always thought about him. I did. After I left, I always would wonder about him. What kind of man he became? He is happy? I even said that I missed him. Even though no one may ever read this letter . . I still want to be honest. 

I did miss him . . 

I do miss him. 

At times I thought about finding him, contacting him. But then what? What would I say to him? I'm not sure if he would even remember me. This letter is like I'm talking to him. That night on the beach, I didn't explain . . I don't even think I apologised. After it was said, it was quiet. He was quiet. The ache I felt in my heart at that moment, a feeling I have not forgotten. It's like we both knew it was the end. That night is something I won't forget. Something I never will forget. Just being back here, I'm reminded of him so much more . . reminded of us. 

God, I really loved him. 

I loved him . . as much as one person can love another. 

to be continued.