Dead Letters.
Dead Letters.
Dear Scott...
Don't look for me, and you'll find I'm still here...
No matter the distance, I will always be near.
When the April rains down, and the October rolls over...
I'll be bounding to you, over white Cliffs Of Dover...
Nothing will keep us away, even Death...
Nothing can break the pale caress of our breath...
Although my soul is bought, sealed forever with your kiss...
I'll still be right here, standing still in the mist.
All Of My Love...Elizabeth.
All she wrote. All she left. Just a forgotten remnant of many, on crumpled pieces of looseleaf paper.
Of course, the time had taken its toll on the letter, and Scott's salt-ridden tears had pitched in a great amount as well, dampening and drifting down to the floor, freezing the flimsy shards before they crashed into the midwinter blanket. It was his favorite, and he read it every day shortly before going to bed. The words were hardly legible now, if words at all, but it didn't matter how bad the ink had become distorted and bleeding; he knew it by heart. Heart, soul, and a diminishing mind...
Scott was not going crazy. Scott was not going insane. Scott was going to take out the trash, wash the dishes, go to work for the first time even, but he's been sitting on the couch, fondling through Elizabeth's personal diaries...how could he know? Why didn't she tell him, that she wrote constantly, constantly of their love? He comes upon another one, this time written in print, and much shorter than the others, rummaging through the grey chest...
Dear Scott...
I need you.
I crave you.
I want you.
For everything.
For my help...
For myself.
Your Faithful Elizabeth.
October 10th, 1997. It wasn't yesterday, but might as well have been. They had just gone through a foreclosure the recent week, and Scott was ready to get a divorce, buckling under all of the financial trauma. He didn't do it, he still doesn't know why he didn't sign the paper, but after this? Certainly, he knows now why she didn't go through with it herself...
What if she wanted to give this to him?
Scott is welling up, but he presses on through the box, feeling for another sense of delivering compassion. His fingers tremble, clasping upon a scroll-like sheet, shielding the face from the falling tears. He unrolls it, and it seems to be written in a more enthusiastic style, much more bubbly than the others...his hands are shaking uncontrollably at this time, but he forces his eyes to coincide, glancing down through the bitter air...
Dear Scott,
I want it to be a girl.
She'll mean more than the world to us, Scott.
She'll be the world to us, Scott.
Can you imagine?
Growing up, growing with her?
Developing as a family?
Isn't that what you wanted us to be? Right, Scott?
We'll take her to the park...
We'll read her bedtime stories...
Watch the stars as they bleed into the dark...
She'll be the piece we never had...
The extra half to our heart!
Can you imagine?
I just wish it could be a girl, Scott.
Love, Liz.
Four months ago. She had written this four months ago. They hadn't talked about her infertility since they had first met, but it seems that she still thought about it...Hard. Was this what she really wanted? Did she really feel this way about having a baby? Scott didn't know, he didn't know any of this, and he crashes to the snow, as the letters all go tumbling on the ground. All of them sink and fade into the wind, melting away through the hidden asphalt under the streetlight...
All except for one.
He reaches out with frozen hands, trying to clasp the last piece of her that still lived inside of him. Once more he read it, and read it aloud, to the audience of the screeching wind.
"Dear Scott...
Don't look for me, and you'll find I'm still here...
No matter the distance, I will always be near.
When the April rains down, and the October rolls over...
I'll be bounding to you, over white Cliffs Of Dover...
Nothing will keep us away, even Death...
Nothing can break the pale caress of our breath...
Although my soul is bought, sealed forever with your kiss...
I'll still be right here, standing still in the mist.
Love..."
He couldn't say her name. But he didn't have to. He laid down there in the falling flakes, washing the tufts of white up against his bare body, and clenching the single letter placed to his chest...
One more time.
I'll still be right here...
He swore that he saw her shadow move within the light of the lantern, and there he laid still, relinquishing his soul with the dead letters sinking into falling snow, giving up to the coldness of the winter, and his own murderous heart.
Don't look for me, and you'll find I'm still here...
No matter the distance, I will always be near.
When the April rains down, and the October rolls over...
I'll be bounding to you, over white Cliffs Of Dover...
Nothing will keep us away, even Death...
Nothing can break the pale caress of our breath...
Although my soul is bought, sealed forever with your kiss...
I'll still be right here, standing still in the mist.
All Of My Love...Elizabeth.
All she wrote. All she left. Just a forgotten remnant of many, on crumpled pieces of looseleaf paper.
Of course, the time had taken its toll on the letter, and Scott's salt-ridden tears had pitched in a great amount as well, dampening and drifting down to the floor, freezing the flimsy shards before they crashed into the midwinter blanket. It was his favorite, and he read it every day shortly before going to bed. The words were hardly legible now, if words at all, but it didn't matter how bad the ink had become distorted and bleeding; he knew it by heart. Heart, soul, and a diminishing mind...
Scott was not going crazy. Scott was not going insane. Scott was going to take out the trash, wash the dishes, go to work for the first time even, but he's been sitting on the couch, fondling through Elizabeth's personal diaries...how could he know? Why didn't she tell him, that she wrote constantly, constantly of their love? He comes upon another one, this time written in print, and much shorter than the others, rummaging through the grey chest...
Dear Scott...
I need you.
I crave you.
I want you.
For everything.
For my help...
For myself.
Your Faithful Elizabeth.
October 10th, 1997. It wasn't yesterday, but might as well have been. They had just gone through a foreclosure the recent week, and Scott was ready to get a divorce, buckling under all of the financial trauma. He didn't do it, he still doesn't know why he didn't sign the paper, but after this? Certainly, he knows now why she didn't go through with it herself...
What if she wanted to give this to him?
Scott is welling up, but he presses on through the box, feeling for another sense of delivering compassion. His fingers tremble, clasping upon a scroll-like sheet, shielding the face from the falling tears. He unrolls it, and it seems to be written in a more enthusiastic style, much more bubbly than the others...his hands are shaking uncontrollably at this time, but he forces his eyes to coincide, glancing down through the bitter air...
Dear Scott,
I want it to be a girl.
She'll mean more than the world to us, Scott.
She'll be the world to us, Scott.
Can you imagine?
Growing up, growing with her?
Developing as a family?
Isn't that what you wanted us to be? Right, Scott?
We'll take her to the park...
We'll read her bedtime stories...
Watch the stars as they bleed into the dark...
She'll be the piece we never had...
The extra half to our heart!
Can you imagine?
I just wish it could be a girl, Scott.
Love, Liz.
Four months ago. She had written this four months ago. They hadn't talked about her infertility since they had first met, but it seems that she still thought about it...Hard. Was this what she really wanted? Did she really feel this way about having a baby? Scott didn't know, he didn't know any of this, and he crashes to the snow, as the letters all go tumbling on the ground. All of them sink and fade into the wind, melting away through the hidden asphalt under the streetlight...
All except for one.
He reaches out with frozen hands, trying to clasp the last piece of her that still lived inside of him. Once more he read it, and read it aloud, to the audience of the screeching wind.
"Dear Scott...
Don't look for me, and you'll find I'm still here...
No matter the distance, I will always be near.
When the April rains down, and the October rolls over...
I'll be bounding to you, over white Cliffs Of Dover...
Nothing will keep us away, even Death...
Nothing can break the pale caress of our breath...
Although my soul is bought, sealed forever with your kiss...
I'll still be right here, standing still in the mist.
Love..."
He couldn't say her name. But he didn't have to. He laid down there in the falling flakes, washing the tufts of white up against his bare body, and clenching the single letter placed to his chest...
One more time.
I'll still be right here...
He swore that he saw her shadow move within the light of the lantern, and there he laid still, relinquishing his soul with the dead letters sinking into falling snow, giving up to the coldness of the winter, and his own murderous heart.