Letters she never meant to send is a short story I started last June, my second heart break, they say three is the charm so maybe with my third one this May Magic is afoot and this story will come to fruition. This is the first Chapter…
Note: this material is copyrighted and the property of Julie Mathison, no one has permission to take, borrow, copy or paste this anywhere on the web, in their own blog or to pass of as their own writing….04AUG2015
Memories are like ghosts, they haunt us, lingering with the energy we feed them. Often we live in our memories, remembering with sadness, longing, and regret. Our memories are ours and ours alone, differing from truth, in the way we want to remember them. Sometimes our memories are loving, lingering with fondness, sticking to us like honey on our fingers, other times bitter, like dark chicory coffee. Lost, living in the past, remembered as better, better than now, better than what is, better than what we are afraid may come.
She woke with the light slipping through the windows, making odd wavy patterns on the wall like rippling water. She slowly remembered her dream; he was in it again like a veil of moonlight…haunting her. The memory of the dream was both sweet and sad, like the last bite of something you loved. She sighed as she threw the covers back over head, getting up just wasn’t an option yet. She reached up and felt the wetness on her face before she realized she was crying, again. She had to move on, to let go. She knew all of this, a hundred times over, but knowing and doing are two separate demons. She thought about the dream, what was it this time? Longing, regret, sadness, loneliness…or maybe all of the above. She sat up, drying her tears, a thought that was slowly coming to light in her head… that his weakness had become her strength.
She got up and rummaged in the old box she kept under the bed, it was full of all of her letters and she knew that letter was in there somewhere. It was time to send it, or burn it. She felt something stir inside her, like fluttering in her chest. There were so many letters in the box, the lost letters that always seemed to magically find their way to her. She didn’t know why, never questioned it, it was just who she was. People always found her, actually their letters always found her. Since she was young people always seemed to feel the magic she carried inside, and they always felt the need to give her their letters, the ones they needed to write, but never meant to send. So she kept them, holding the pain, heartbreak, anger, need, and love these letters were filled with. She never read them; she always put them in the beat up box she kept under her bed.
Today she realized she needed to release them, burn them and bury the ashes under the curly willow tree she had loved for years. She had brought the tree back after her short but beautifully happy time in the forest, it was a scraggly sapling when she carted it home and she had loved it into the magnificent tree it now was. She slowly withdrew the first letter, it was written on pink flowery paper. She remembered the sad broken hearted girl who she had sat next to on the bench. The girl looked so lost, clutching a crumpled letter; it was wet from the tears dripping down her chin. She felt such sadness radiating from the girl and wanted so badly to tell her it would get better, that the pain would fade and float away, a tiny bit each day. But she knew she couldn’t, so she just quietly sat next to the girl, watching the crows land on the trees. After a few moments the girl looked up and she felt physical recoil at the emptiness that she saw in those eyes, only a broken heart could feel this empty, this lonely, and she understood that. Slowly she took the letter that the girl let drop on the ground. “Don’t worry” she said, “I’ll find the right place to put this”. The girl had gotten up, turned and looked like she was trying to say something, thank you maybe, but she just sighed, and started to tremble as she walked away.
The letter was so sad:
My heart aches today, not every day, but today I can’t catch my breath. I lay here and cry, how pathetic this is. How I allow you the power still, to hurt me. How can a single moment, a single heartbeat change your whole world. How can you love someone one moment, then not the next? I cannot understand this, why do I lie to my own heart. I just wanted to see you, one last time, why could you not grant me this. After all you had done, I deserved for you to at least face me. It makes me think you really are a coward when it comes to love, to life; living your life afraid, of rejection. I am so very proud of my own heart, never letting fear cloud its ability to love. I love fiercely, passionately and without abandon. I am not sorry I loved you, but I am sorry you didn’t deserve it.
I miss you today, not everyday…But today, today I’m thinking about how you smelled, kissing you, your touch. I can’t hold onto your image in my head. I’m trying not to be angry, trying so hard to not hate you but sometimes I fail. Most days I am fine, I’m moving on. But there are still those days, like today where I just couldn’t get out of bed, where the sadness that lurks beneath takes over, but In the end I’ve found pieces of myself, pieces I thought were lost”
This one especially hit home, she knew that feeling all too well, emptiness was her best friend these days, lurking everywhere. She walked to the fire pit that came with the house; it was a beautiful fire pit with a bronze lid filled with carvings of the moon, stars and the sun. She sat under her willow tree holding the letter. She felt all of the pain and heart ache from the letter fade and float back into the void, then she burned it in the pit, left the ashes and went back to read another.