“I don’t know what I must write to undo what I have done to you. I couldn’t live to see you around me being unfair to your own life.” Sucking on the end of her pen, she read it again and then struck it out. It lacked emotion.
“No words wish to come out of the tip of my pen. I should’ve expected it after what I did to you. The torment I have had your heart bear has doubled up upon mine. I did it because I want you to be happy and even though your heart burns right now, even though it feels like I snatched away your only reason to live, one day you will learn to live without this grudge, and you’ll know it was for the better, I did it. I couldn’t have you suffer from my cause. I only have this to say – the day you finally find it bearable to live again, would you please find it in your heart to forgive me?”
It was 6 in the morning. Her eyes were red, her vision blurred. The bottle of beer lay shattered at her feet, in a thousand poor pieces. In her drunken state, she had not only landed the bottle straight on the floor but also stepped on the crushed pieces. Her feet slashed, the glass gravel pricking in the sole, drawing out more blood.
She finished writing the last letter. It almost felt like a confession, only it wasn’t. Sealing it, she put it in the drawer and hobbled to the bathroom to bandage her feet. Just how much it hurt from the pressure. This is exactly what life would’ve been for him. Why couldn’t he see? And how could she let it go on?
At 10, she limped across the street and dropped the letter at the rusted post box, then grabbed a cinnamon croissant from ‘Jake’s Cakes’ and rushed home. The excess beer from last night made her nauseous. She moved about the house restlessly. His pleas, the urgency dripping from his words echoed in the room. She slapped her hands on her ears.
The wound from last night kept pricking. She swore loudly as she doused it with salt water. And all the while her thoughts kept drifting to the letter she just posted. How many days before she gets a reply from him? Will she get one?
© Asha Seth