Vienda | 7 Dentis, 2719
Palis had not bothered to light the lamps of his sitting room, the early-falling darkness of the autumn evening seeping into the room and splashing blue-grey shadows up his walls unhindered. The man sat unmoving in the dark at his desk, letting the shadows paint his portrait on the walls in an exaggerated caricature of inky length as he held an exhausted head in exhausted hands. He was so tired- emotionally, physically, mentally. This was the first moment he had had to simply think in months, and how he wished he was still busy doing anything at all.
Instead, the 21-year-old was alone and without a nagging list of unchecked boxes to attend to. He couldn't remember how to relax, how to not be doing, and, alone, he had let go of his mind's lead and let it wander too far away.
Three months. It had been three months since he had seen or spoken to Aurelien after more than a year devoted to each other, and, the worst of it, Palis did not know why. Where Aurelien had once brought a light love like helium balloons to tie around Palis’ wrist, now the young man was left with limp strings and the memories floating away on a blank horizon. The last time they had seen each other had been their anniversary, and, after that, Aurelien was gone. True, they were both so young and so incredibly busy but-
He lifted his head from his hands, narrowly avoiding marking his face with the quill tucked in his right hand. He squinted at the page, nothing but Dear Mr. Aurelien LeClair, scrawled at the top. Gods, what could he say? What could he say without sounding desperate, without sounding immature, without sounding naïve? Was this simply how it was supposed to end? Had he missed something? Had he accidentally given a sign that he did not want Aurelien anymore? What? What? What was it?
He scratched out Dear Mr. Aurelien LeClair with the dry scritch-ing of the neglected quill, dipping it deep into the inkwell of emotion.
No, no. That was perhaps too aggressive. Carefully, he covered the line with a splattering of ink.Lovely,
It is not my intention to seek you out of hiding, to interrupt whatever you are pursuing, to bring up painful memories of what is lost, but there is a lake of words we have left unsaid. Should it bring you too much pain to read this or to write back, please- you do know your pain is the last thing in the world that I should ever want.
Aurelien LeClair, forgive me for thinking I could be the one to make you happy for the rest of your life.
Palis sighed. It just was not right. This man had defined love for Palis, then left him alone, left him to figure out how to feel it again. What words could he say? What words could he possibly write to make this right?Aurelien LeClair, forgive me for thinking I could be the one to make you happy for the rest of your life.
Aurelien LeClair, I was perhaps foolish to believe I could be the one to make you happy for the rest of our intertwined lives. We are both incredibly young- me especially- and busy men with dreams that try to pull the other away from their own. You are busy with work, surely, just as I have been. Too busy, now, to invest time in caring for another.
Yet, this is only assumption of what went astray. We have left each other with nothing but the ghost of a hand in our own, the warmth of a smile still lingering in the doorway.
You showed me love and left me the moment I became obsessed. I cannot pretend I am not upset. I have thrown myself so far into my work to fill this void in my mind where I thought only of you, to keep me from thinking too much about you. Perhaps you will find yourself thinking of me soon. I cannot pretend that I do not hope you do. Love was, with you, loving you so much I'd give you anything, loving you so much that I am holding my breath, waiting for you to come back to my door, waiting for to wake up from a three-month dream- yet, maybe this is waking up. I love you.
There was not making it right. That was it. Aurelien was gone, and Palis was trying to pick up the pieces of something that would never, ever be the same as the dream it was, never be the same as the tinted memories Palis held onto endlessly. His eyes stung. His nose ran. His throat collapsed. He shook with anger, no, sadness, no! Frustration! No!
Love. Quietly, Palis dipped the quill once last time, adding one letter to the page.
I loved you.
Letting the darkness of evening consume the letter, Palis AInu rose from the chair for the first time in hours, leaving his quill dripping as it lay on the paper, and went to bed.
