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Literature Text
The first thing I said to you was that you were “quite beautiful” and you almost looked past me with those distressing eyes and said “I hope you’re talking to the stars; they’re the only ones who care to listen to nameless compliments and the rusty, quiet voices of young men.” Much to my surprise, you never let me go after that. I gave my word to be yours until the day I died, but things are a little different now.
Even when you were angry, the corners of your mouth curved upwards, only slightly so, towards your eyes – almost as if your own body was fighting wildly for your happiness, even while the cruelties of depression traipsed along the edges of your soul.
I remember you smiling in your sleep; it was such a sad, heartrending expression though, like you knew I was awake and you smiled merely to console my fluttering insomnia. I was always enamored by the flaccidity of your limbs when you slept. I could gently droop your arms over my shoulders, around my waist, and wrap your legs around my own without you ever stirring. I used to believe that I never woke you by doing so, but every now and then you’d nuzzle closer and softly sigh. Whether it was your body’s natural response or your own mindful action, I will never know, but it was always that last moment that pushed me off the edge into the abyss of sleep.
I lived in a different world. I lived to smell your shoulders after we showered, to kiss your ankles and the corners of your eyes, to bury my face in your clothes and against your neck. I lived for you.
Even though I had to fight to bring a smile to your face each day, and through all the trouble, it was worth every damn second. Despite the lack of discernable gratitude, your hands spoke great volumes of appreciation—in simple touches and subconscious twitches of skin—and somehow I knew that everything was going to be okay, even if each day was an unrelenting struggle.
I won’t give up. Not now, nor ever. I love you, always.
-X
P.S.
Every day, for the last 9 months since the accident, I have given you this letter. Every night I refold it, tuck it in an envelope and kiss it shut, waiting for the day that things go back to normal.
I don’t want to force you to love me now. I can’t, it’s not possible; I just want you to remember… Oh God, we’re so young, please. You’re not supposed to forget me. Not yet.
Even when you were angry, the corners of your mouth curved upwards, only slightly so, towards your eyes – almost as if your own body was fighting wildly for your happiness, even while the cruelties of depression traipsed along the edges of your soul.
I remember you smiling in your sleep; it was such a sad, heartrending expression though, like you knew I was awake and you smiled merely to console my fluttering insomnia. I was always enamored by the flaccidity of your limbs when you slept. I could gently droop your arms over my shoulders, around my waist, and wrap your legs around my own without you ever stirring. I used to believe that I never woke you by doing so, but every now and then you’d nuzzle closer and softly sigh. Whether it was your body’s natural response or your own mindful action, I will never know, but it was always that last moment that pushed me off the edge into the abyss of sleep.
I lived in a different world. I lived to smell your shoulders after we showered, to kiss your ankles and the corners of your eyes, to bury my face in your clothes and against your neck. I lived for you.
Even though I had to fight to bring a smile to your face each day, and through all the trouble, it was worth every damn second. Despite the lack of discernable gratitude, your hands spoke great volumes of appreciation—in simple touches and subconscious twitches of skin—and somehow I knew that everything was going to be okay, even if each day was an unrelenting struggle.
I won’t give up. Not now, nor ever. I love you, always.
-X
P.S.
Every day, for the last 9 months since the accident, I have given you this letter. Every night I refold it, tuck it in an envelope and kiss it shut, waiting for the day that things go back to normal.
I don’t want to force you to love me now. I can’t, it’s not possible; I just want you to remember… Oh God, we’re so young, please. You’re not supposed to forget me. Not yet.
Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.
-Kevin Arnold
Letter for
's contest. [link] 
I don't feel that it is the best I could have done, but I'm still willing to give it a go.
-Kevin Arnold
Letter for
's contest. [link] I don't feel that it is the best I could have done, but I'm still willing to give it a go.
© 2009 - 2024 merveilleux-terreur
Comments42
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Well, that's quite sad. Hope everything turns out ok. Very well written though. Keep thinking I should maybe write a letter, but I never do.