Dear Intruder | (Completed)

CHAPTER 6: Last letter

CHAPTER 6: Last Letter

(Letter)

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22 June 2018

Dear You,

It's been a while since I last wrote to you. I guess more than anything, you are a glorified diary to me as it's very clear that I have no intention of posting these letters.

I used to wonder why, when it comes to you, my mind wants to put all logical reasons aside and dive inside the abyss of irrationality?

I suppose the heart wants what it wants. That there is no logical explanation.

This is my last letter to you, I realise I've been holding on for far too long, only because I misunderstood what it was to let go.

I foolishly thought that I'd have to begrudgingly resent you, keep you locked up in a corner of my mind and throw away the key.

When did I become so dramatic?

I want to genuinely apologize to you. I'm sorry, for a while I only remembered you with bitterness, forgetting how you were part of my enamoured daydreams, frightful nightmares and everywhere in between.

But now I've decided to keep you only in my fond memories, if possible.

I'm sitting in 'our' spot, behind the school building and guess what's gripping my attention, I know you'd be genuinely shocked to find out, it's "Bernard Shaw & Mrs Patrick Campbell: Their Correspondence."

You've pestered me to read this one so many times, you used to say it was 'the book' to read since I was always so interested in reading letters, but I, as always, was living in my fantastically fictional world (but I've made you like the fictional 'Fire and Ice' series and I count that a win). I picked your recommended book today on a whim and I have to admit it exceeds my expectations.

'Reality is often stranger than fiction' you used to say in defence of all your beloved nonfictional books, and I've discovered how right you were and always are.

Us falling apart was never your fault alone, but I denied any semblance of that responsibility for the longest time. Not anymore, I'm surrendering to the reality I was denying all this while.

I want to free you and myself from the shackles of guilt and burden of 'what ifs', and I hope you forgive me too for all the hurt I may have knowingly and unknowingly caused you.

I probably sound like a broken record, but I mean every word earnestly.

You've helped me a lot to grow as a person, shared your interests with me, encouraged me to pursue my dreams and everything that puts me in a better place and for all that I'll be grateful, forever.

Yours

(Hopefully always... as a fond memory)

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(REPLY)

12 Sept 2018

Dear Elliot,

So, it seems like this is my last reply to your last letter.

There's a tug in my heart, a peculiar form of melancholy to see the blank pages that follow your letter... no more words to read, no direction to follow, no more story. There's no end in sight... maybe I'll never know how it all ends and I'm unsure if I really want to find out.

Reading your letters was like a journey, it was like living vicariously through your very vivid experiences. But I have many questions...

Was it worth it? The joyful moments you spent in her company and all the time you spent thinking about her... was it worth the heartache?

This is one thing that I can't seem to justify with my logic.

Like they say: 'It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' Is it really? Do you agree?

A lot of times people string together words they think they mean... but they hardly know what they are trying to say. Everyone is always just figuring things out as they go.

I can't make a judgement about this, I'm a little out of my element here, I have never experienced that sort of love or been a victim of heartbreak, so it's slightly out of my area of expertise.

But I think it does exist and I'm cautiously optimistic, to say the least. I'm curious as to what you think, I wanna pick your brain and hear your thoughts spoken to me...

Not just about this, but a lot of things and it makes me wanna meet you so badly.

Your diary sits in my hands heavily as I contemplate how it is the only thing that can make it possible.

Should I look for you? Stick around post-it notes on the library notice board claiming to have found a lost diary? I am not sure...

I don't know why I stereotypically thought of the library, but I imagine you would be one of those who frequent it. Sorry if I'm wrong. That'll teach me not to give in to stereotypes.

I'm sorry if I come off as cynical or seem sarcastic in some of my rants. It's not my intention to undermine your experiences, and disrespect or disregard what you must have felt or be feeling. I just don't understand it very well, and I'm at my wit's end, trying to perceive it.

A small part of me wants to read a letter written for me, wish that someone would hold me in such high regard to pour out their thoughts on a piece of paper, I guess it's too much to ask in this day and age, but I couldn't help but request: Would you write it...?

I don't know or care what you would write in it, but having a letter addressed to me from you sounds good enough.

Somehow after reading all the words you've written within this diary and after adding all my unwelcome scribbles, I feel like this diary is close to my heart too and I'm unwilling to part with it just yet. I'm sorry if I made you worry over your lost diary.

But I hope you understand.

Apologetically,

Annie

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