Half Life

Dearest Mina,

For me, a letter has always been hard to begin, especially to a girl that I have grown sweet on and so, this one is hardest of all, just as you are the sweetest of any maiden I have ever laid eyes upon. A young man always dreams of writing love letters to his beloved, planning every word, plotting every verse of poetry copied from an old school book, I myself, included. But I'm afraid I find myself at a loss with the blank paper in front of me. What could I possibly write that was so beautiful, so fitting, that the object of my affection would find love in her heart for me.If No, there are no ifs, only paths we choose, and the path I have chosen is with you, whether this be a futile venture, or something of a more rewarding nature. In my heart of hearts, I know that you could never return the feelings that I have for you. I know my faults, my errors, my flaws. I know that God has not made me perfect.

You say you love me, this caricature of a man, a man of little excitment, a solicitor of great boredom. And you, beloved Mina, so desperate for excitement and adventure: I can imagine you sailing the vast ocean with a Captain; traversing the vast expanse of America with a bandit; climbing mountains with map makers and exploring the pyramids with archaeologists, your alabaster and fire beauty unrivaled in whichever faraway place you crossed.

And yet, of all these things that you could do, that you desire to do, you choose to be a school mistress, a common London solicitor's wife. You must see things that are invisible to me.

If I was a poet, I would write my very best sonnets for you. And if I were an artist, you would be my only subject. And if I were a composer of music, there would be symphonies in your name and lullabies dedicated to your beauty and great loving. But I am a solicitor, and numbers and figures and signatures cannot tell so much as a word of you.

Dearest Mina, you must forgive me for my unintelligent ramblings. I fear it is all I have to offer you besides a reasonably sized house with a view of the Thames. This, I can promise you though: whatever you do with the vast expanse of life before you, all is golden in your wake.

I

"Blast." Jonathan Harker cursed loudly as he re-read what he had written before he threw the papers into the fire. "Why am I writing such nonsense? How could she ever love me."

He ran a hand through his thick, not quite blonde hair.

"Oh Mina Murray... What could I say that ever came close to you?"

That night, Jonathan Harker fell asleep on his desk by the fire with a bottle of scotch for company. Mina Murray never saw his first attempt at writing, although, she did receive many love letters in the duration of their relationship.