The Record of Brooklyn
One.
To my deepest of loves,
I have so many words to tell you, and none of the capacity. I wish I could tell you exactly what has happened to me in this life to make me into this person. The flesh and bone makeup of someone that you love. I honestly wish I could. I hope that this letter does not find you sorrowful or angry. Hopefully it will find you somewhere between hope and healing. Or at least a small amount of understanding should pass through you as you continue through this small envelope and letter. I must tell you no matter what you think of me after all of this that I love you. Deeply, passionately, and for the rest of eternity, my soul will love yours.
It started last year, the vibrations through my body alerted me that something was wrong, something out of place. Maybe I already knew it though and just chose to ignore it. Who knows? I suppose now it is no longer relevant, and you will get no healing from knowing I ignored my body to the point it was going to kill me.
I was planning to sugar coat that, and give you the very smallest amount of information on the ending of a tale we have spent years writing together; but I cannot find any other way than the bare fact. My dearest love, I am going to die. Sooner than you, and my mother, and before all of the best of life even begins. My curtain call will come much sooner than the rest. Because I am sick, and my body no longer has the fight it needs. Please don’t think that I am simply giving up, because that is not what this is. This is me telling you that the fight was not something I could win. The blows I gave always refracted back upon myself. It was never a winning fight; I see that now. And I hope that you see that, and look past this piece of paper holding the most painful admission known to mankind on it, to see that truth. This is something you do not need to understand, but you must accept, because this above all else cannot be changed.
My dearest love, I must tell you the things I have never been able to tell you when I was there before you, basking in the magnificence that was our love and desire for one another. There are things I must tell a lot of people, but it seems unfair to start anywhere other than here with you, where my life began. Because with you I lived. I really lived. Too bad it has come to such a small end. A grand love story cut down by the climax. It is something I really must apologize for. But apologies are nothing but words anyway.
If you would my dear, come to the place we first met and pick up my next set of words. Good luck, and I love you.
Love Always,
Brooklyn Hallestrom.
His breath flowed from his mouth into the cold air, creating ribbons of vapor that disappeared into the atmosphere. His eyes hurt from crying the last few days and his fingers were covered in small papercuts where he had run his fingers over the edges of her letter over and over again. He imagined her over and over in his mind, writing her testimony of what they had, knowing it would be the last time she got to relive it. They would never have the moments to giggle at their wedding about how they met and fell in love. They would never get to revisit the moments with their children as they looked over at them with contempt and disgust. Time had ripped that all away from them.
His hand reached up and ran through his tangled hair. It was nothing more than a brown mass of tangles and chaos at this point, he had stopped brushing it a week before when he got the call that he was needed at home. The red-eye flight was expensive but from the second his mother called him he knew he was needed here. Now, despite how much his family felt they needed him near for this, he wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere where he could turn back time and revisit that person, tell his past version to treasure the moments so much more. Because in a matter of years he would be standing here, staring at a cobble stone street, his lungs burning with the deepest regret he had ever felt in his lifetime.
His cellphone began to jump around in his pocket and he grabbed at it like a cat pawing its prey; desperate to hear how everything this last week was a joke. A real laugh on him. But as he stared at the name jumping on the screen the lump in his throat rose once more. It was all so very real.
“Hello?”
“Hey mate, how are you holding up?” It was a question he had been asked a lot lately. A question he did not know how to answer at this point. Was he okay? No. Was he devastated? No. There was no word to express this. It was so much worse than the most painful descriptive word he could think up. But there was no way to describe it, and so he lied.
“Fine.” It was the biggest lie he had ever spoke in his life.
“You sure?” No. Not at all.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I promise. I was a bit gutted at first but I am good now mate, promise.”
“Your mum says you’ve been drinking a bit more the last couple of days.” He could hear the concern in his friend’s voice but couldn’t bring himself to care much. Irritation clawed at him. The truth was he had been drinking more, it was the only way to swallow down some of the grief he had been experiencing.
“Yeah, what of it? I’ve always been a drinker. You know this.” There was silence on the other end of the phone and for a sweet moment he thought his friend had hung up.
“Just uh, take care of yourself mate. That’s all. You know we all miss-” he jabbed the end call button and sighed. Anger bubbled inside of him. They didn’t get to say they missed her. He knew it was selfish, after all she had been quite good friends with Tom, but he wanted that selfishness. She loved him most. They shared midnight kisses, and lazy Sunday train rides to the country side. And when he had moved to New York from London, she had willingly packed a suitcase to help him start a new life before returning home. He had never been away from her, not in spirit at least. They had always been intertwined, two halves of the same whole. Only he got to miss her right now. This was his moment to be completely and unapologetically selfish.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t a movie moment where he shouted off into the abyss and sad music played nearby but it felt just as pitiful to him. His life had become a tragedy. Any minute now a director would call cut and a look alike would come and stand in for some melodramatic stunt like flinging himself off a nearby cliff. “Just fuck.”
He was never a smoker, but he could go for a cigarette right about now. Or at least something to take the edge off as he made his way over to a small playground. It was void of children and overrun with moss, mildew, and memories. His fingers found the paper in his pocket and traced the letter through the material. He was here, where they first met, about to look for a forgotten piece of paper. Forgotten by time, and people, but the most important piece of paper in the world to him. As he glanced across the playground he fell to his knees, allowing himself to be tremendously, and unequivocally sad.
“Fuck.”
I have so many words to tell you, and none of the capacity. I wish I could tell you exactly what has happened to me in this life to make me into this person. The flesh and bone makeup of someone that you love. I honestly wish I could. I hope that this letter does not find you sorrowful or angry. Hopefully it will find you somewhere between hope and healing. Or at least a small amount of understanding should pass through you as you continue through this small envelope and letter. I must tell you no matter what you think of me after all of this that I love you. Deeply, passionately, and for the rest of eternity, my soul will love yours.
It started last year, the vibrations through my body alerted me that something was wrong, something out of place. Maybe I already knew it though and just chose to ignore it. Who knows? I suppose now it is no longer relevant, and you will get no healing from knowing I ignored my body to the point it was going to kill me.
I was planning to sugar coat that, and give you the very smallest amount of information on the ending of a tale we have spent years writing together; but I cannot find any other way than the bare fact. My dearest love, I am going to die. Sooner than you, and my mother, and before all of the best of life even begins. My curtain call will come much sooner than the rest. Because I am sick, and my body no longer has the fight it needs. Please don’t think that I am simply giving up, because that is not what this is. This is me telling you that the fight was not something I could win. The blows I gave always refracted back upon myself. It was never a winning fight; I see that now. And I hope that you see that, and look past this piece of paper holding the most painful admission known to mankind on it, to see that truth. This is something you do not need to understand, but you must accept, because this above all else cannot be changed.
My dearest love, I must tell you the things I have never been able to tell you when I was there before you, basking in the magnificence that was our love and desire for one another. There are things I must tell a lot of people, but it seems unfair to start anywhere other than here with you, where my life began. Because with you I lived. I really lived. Too bad it has come to such a small end. A grand love story cut down by the climax. It is something I really must apologize for. But apologies are nothing but words anyway.
If you would my dear, come to the place we first met and pick up my next set of words. Good luck, and I love you.
Love Always,
Brooklyn Hallestrom.
His breath flowed from his mouth into the cold air, creating ribbons of vapor that disappeared into the atmosphere. His eyes hurt from crying the last few days and his fingers were covered in small papercuts where he had run his fingers over the edges of her letter over and over again. He imagined her over and over in his mind, writing her testimony of what they had, knowing it would be the last time she got to relive it. They would never have the moments to giggle at their wedding about how they met and fell in love. They would never get to revisit the moments with their children as they looked over at them with contempt and disgust. Time had ripped that all away from them.
His hand reached up and ran through his tangled hair. It was nothing more than a brown mass of tangles and chaos at this point, he had stopped brushing it a week before when he got the call that he was needed at home. The red-eye flight was expensive but from the second his mother called him he knew he was needed here. Now, despite how much his family felt they needed him near for this, he wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere where he could turn back time and revisit that person, tell his past version to treasure the moments so much more. Because in a matter of years he would be standing here, staring at a cobble stone street, his lungs burning with the deepest regret he had ever felt in his lifetime.
His cellphone began to jump around in his pocket and he grabbed at it like a cat pawing its prey; desperate to hear how everything this last week was a joke. A real laugh on him. But as he stared at the name jumping on the screen the lump in his throat rose once more. It was all so very real.
“Hello?”
“Hey mate, how are you holding up?” It was a question he had been asked a lot lately. A question he did not know how to answer at this point. Was he okay? No. Was he devastated? No. There was no word to express this. It was so much worse than the most painful descriptive word he could think up. But there was no way to describe it, and so he lied.
“Fine.” It was the biggest lie he had ever spoke in his life.
“You sure?” No. Not at all.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I promise. I was a bit gutted at first but I am good now mate, promise.”
“Your mum says you’ve been drinking a bit more the last couple of days.” He could hear the concern in his friend’s voice but couldn’t bring himself to care much. Irritation clawed at him. The truth was he had been drinking more, it was the only way to swallow down some of the grief he had been experiencing.
“Yeah, what of it? I’ve always been a drinker. You know this.” There was silence on the other end of the phone and for a sweet moment he thought his friend had hung up.
“Just uh, take care of yourself mate. That’s all. You know we all miss-” he jabbed the end call button and sighed. Anger bubbled inside of him. They didn’t get to say they missed her. He knew it was selfish, after all she had been quite good friends with Tom, but he wanted that selfishness. She loved him most. They shared midnight kisses, and lazy Sunday train rides to the country side. And when he had moved to New York from London, she had willingly packed a suitcase to help him start a new life before returning home. He had never been away from her, not in spirit at least. They had always been intertwined, two halves of the same whole. Only he got to miss her right now. This was his moment to be completely and unapologetically selfish.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. It wasn’t a movie moment where he shouted off into the abyss and sad music played nearby but it felt just as pitiful to him. His life had become a tragedy. Any minute now a director would call cut and a look alike would come and stand in for some melodramatic stunt like flinging himself off a nearby cliff. “Just fuck.”
He was never a smoker, but he could go for a cigarette right about now. Or at least something to take the edge off as he made his way over to a small playground. It was void of children and overrun with moss, mildew, and memories. His fingers found the paper in his pocket and traced the letter through the material. He was here, where they first met, about to look for a forgotten piece of paper. Forgotten by time, and people, but the most important piece of paper in the world to him. As he glanced across the playground he fell to his knees, allowing himself to be tremendously, and unequivocally sad.
“Fuck.”