It was still there. Unopened, sitting on the table, her cup of tea steaming beside it. It had been weeks since the daffodil envelope arrived on Emelia's door, resting above her bills. It wasn't addressed to her, or anyone else, there was no indication from where it had come from. Nothing save the inviting colour of the paper, and the exquisite handwriting naming the apartment she was renting.
Who was it from? Who was it for? Should she act? What if someone wanted this letter, needed this letter? What if it was for her? What if it was from someone she didn't want to hear from? What if it was horrible news and now she had to find and deliver that to people who lived there prior, along with their opened letter? Then again, what if it was for her, and it was the letter she'd been waiting her entire life to read?
Not that she knew what that might be, but Emelia had seen it happen in many movies, read of it in many books, she hoped that maybe this was her chance. She hoped maybe she was special too.
These thoughts had plagued her since the moment she'd placed the message on her table. Up and down she plunked her teabag, seconds turned to minutes, steeping shifted to playing, until it was undeniable. She had to open the envelope. After a sip of Earl Grey for courage, Emelia pounced. Her nails tore at the back fold until there was a hole large enough to slide her finger in, and ripped the top.
Tucked within the torn package was a single, crisp, folded page. Emelia held her breath as she read the massive block of difficult cursive.
i don't know how you'll receive this letter. i also don't know if i'll ever forgive myself for letting you go. For not reaching for you as we parted. For being proud. i was hurt. i know you carried your own wounds too. The only thing worse than your absence and the emptiness that has taken place in my heart, is seeing flickers of you in others. Your hair on someone else's head, your smile wore by the stars on my television, your laugh echoing in the distance, your memory everywhere. i am haunted. There are three things i know to be true in life. Perfection is not real. That love is. That neither are how we project them, or wish they would be in reality. Beyond those three, subjectively, i also know that i miss you. i know that a life together will be the same as a life apart, with the highest highs and the lowest lows. i know too that i would much rather be beside you while traversing them. i know that a life together would be at the sacrifice of some of my wants, my younger dreams. i know that a lifetime of our quiet moments, coming home to you and your subtle smiles is an easy trade for old fantasy. i know that despite that i did not want to have children when we were so young, that the only children i ever want are the ones raised with you as their mother. i know that i think about you too much. i know that won't change. For every sunrise and set, every star filled night, every metaphor of love in the poetry and prose i read, every sweet chord in the music i hear, the touching moments in films i watch will continue to remind me of you, and the life that i wish we were sharing together. i know that even if you never answer my call, that i'll be ok, and you'll be ok. And we will love again. But it won't be the same. And i don't want different. In your eyes i see more than the entire world, i see entirety. i see through your flaws, that beyond them, are mine, a mirror to myself. In our love i saw hope. i saw two people trying their best, and it shatters me that they stopped. What does this mean for all of humanity? If we can't figure out our own problems, and bring our best to each other, what chance is there for the rest of the issues of the world? A problem in communication, i'm sure of it, a problem with fear as well. Was it the wrong time? It always is and it's always not. The only time we have to live and experience life is always in the very moment, the instance we are experiencing right now. i was not ready to write this letter. You may not be ready to read this letter. At the same time we have never been more ready. Will things be perfect? We've already established that doesn't exist. But they will be ours, and i couldn't imagine anything better. As long as we band together, as long as we cocreate, own our feelings, speak the truth, and battle forward with courage hand in hand, we cannot lose. i was a major proponent in the bad communication. i did not reach out, i did not try to stop you, and i regret that more than i can express. i'm putting an end to that right now. Is there the One out there? i believe there is, but in my heart i think it's less to do with divine magick and more to do with choice. That the recognition, and the choice is the magick. As long as the two are on the same page. And i choose you. i wish a single kiss could heal all our past pains, and our future fears. That kiss can exist if we choose it, if we attach a promise. i know with our minds and hearts that this world is ours. i know we cannot fail so long as we choose not to give up. That failure would feel the same as this anyways, a life with less. i also know without you, without the full you, you choosing this with your whole heart that there's nothing else i can do. So here it is, my open hand. i am sorry. i forgive you. i love you. i miss you.
You know where to find me, should you choose to,
i await with open arms.
It was only when she felt how cold tea her had become that Emelia noticed how much time had passed. She put the letter down. Her questions returned like a tidal wave, crashing on her with renewed conviction. Em's head was swimming. Nothing had been answered by the vague letter. Save that, if it was for her, that this was in fact the message she had been waiting for. An invitation to mystery, adventure, and love.
But from whom?
She racked her brain, names came up, memories came forth but what if it was someone else? What if the letter was in fact for someone else? What if it was someone she'd overlooked? But the thoughts always circled back to that one name. In her drawer she found a pen and paper.
Emelia didn't know where to start. What if she was wrong? 'If i am wrong, then i will be so without fear. i will be brave,' her decision cemented. She began at the bottom, and wrote the final sentence.
For the rest of my life, i want it to be you, and only you.
then scratched it out.
For the rest of our lives, i want it to be us, and only us.
That felt better, and she signed her name. Braver than her mysterious caller had been. If she was wrong with whom she was writing to, she would own it. The fault would be be his. They only had his cowardice to blame, not hers.
Emelia looked at the empty space above her sign off. Tapping the pen against the page she looked to her window for inspiration, she wanted to speak from her heart, not in response. With her own words. But why wait? The decision was made, why play the game? She took a breath, placed the pen down, reached for her phone, and dialled those old, familiar numbers instead. Emelia held her breath with each ring.
Thanks for reading!
Wazoo!
-Mr. Write