Last night I sat in flood of tears, at 01:38 in the morning, having settled down to read a chapter of my current book at 23:10 and only resurfaced from its engrossing pages well into the next morning. There are few books that have physically reduced me to the lonely weeping state at which I was left having completed this particular piece of fiction; even fewer that have caused me actually anguish, a sensation of sadness in the mind, not because the story ended, but because it wrenched strings in my heart I didn’t know I had. Characters can be instruments of great comfort sometimes; the protagonists of this venture however, introduced choices about being human, so subtle in their expression, that reached into aspects of being alive we might otherwise never think over. I grieved for their sorrows, and the terrible decisions they had to make, and I thought about how I might never be able to bear it, if I was ever met with them. I’ve been feeling grief all day, and I couldn’t sleep for the sadness of it. Sounds silly, I know, but this is why I love the written word, it can be as poignant as a photograph, yet so much deeper.
I mentioned a few posts ago, perhaps November, a book referenced by a friend which I desperately wanted to read, about a boy pursued by death, set in Italy. Turns out it was set in France, and last night I finally conquered it. Well worth the searching. The book in question is A Trick Of The Dark – B.R.Collins, if my frantic writings explaining its wonder have tickled any book-buds. I’ll write a review soon.
Today at work, someone traded in a game, which is highly regular and warrants no gasps of amazement. Folded inside the case, however, was a letter, written from a wife to either a husband, or an ex-husband, expressing her feelings of devotion and regret. Strangely, its written almost as a diary entry, and with very poor grammar and punctuation. His name is either scrawled at the end or on the folded closure of the paper, but I can’t tell exactly which is the addresser and which is the addressee. Of course, on the sheer, inexplicable chance either reads this, I won’t include their names, but I want to share the contents, because they seem to contain a mystery, I have yet to unravel. Also, I corrected the English.
[Name]’s Letter *Private*
If only I could show him how much I love him, and that I don’t ever want to hurt him. I don’t hate him; he makes me feel so beautiful. Us as a family is all I want, and our wedding day was beautiful. I meant every vow I said; nothing could every change the way I feel about him; I still get the butterflies and I still want to melt when he looks at me. He aint a rat or smelly scum or even anything I have ever called him, he [is] the bloke I never knew was out there. I never thought that a bloke would ever do everything he has done and does do. I appreciate everything he does for me. And we have made the most beautiful baby in the world.
I love you so much [name], forever and always.
People are such fascinating creatures. I’m puzzled by many ideas about how this letter came to be written, and subsequently abandoned in the plastic casing of an exchanged video game. Did she place it into the cover, offer the game itself as a gift, an olive branch, only to have it instantly rejected and passed away for a monetary value? And now he’ll never read it, never even know of its existence. Or, maybe, a mistake was made, and he didn’t realise he’d scooped the note in with the instructional contents of the box. Is he searching now for the paper, frantic and desperate to read her words? Does he even know a child has been born? I’m not certain. Is this her way of telling him, that after their marriage dissolved she discovered a pregnancy and loved him too much to simply dissolve that as well? Strange, how sincere penned words can mean so much more than spoken words.
I hope at least that he read it, that above anything surrounding the issues that lead to this note, he knows how she feels.
And yes, I know it says private, and I know reading it has risen me up to a level of disrespect it shouldn’t have, but a letter in a game box whose owner has long walked out the doors, I mean, wouldn’t you?