Sometimes when I sit down to write, what the pen reveals isn’t quite what I intended. This was one of those moments. It doesn’t belong in any story I’m writing – but it found its way onto paper none-the-less.
|Photo via graymalkn|
“Even to this day I think of you. It is no longer a matter of whether I should or I shouldn’t – at some point in time it became whether I could or couldn’t. I couldn’t stop, though I will be the first to admit that if I had succeeded I would have been a much happier man.
As true as I know that to be, I would not change my choices for all the contentment the world has to offer. There is no lasting happiness that could possibly eclipse the moments that you were mine, fleeting though they were.
Destiny may have had other plans but it could not wipe you from my thoughts.
Perhaps it is selfish of me after all this time, but I could not bear to think that I would leave this world behind while your hatred for me still lived. Though it may be easier if you did not know, I simply cannot keep silent any longer. I did it all for you, just you.
It was always you.”
The letter was unsigned, undoubtedly the writer had no concerns over whether or not the recipient would know whose hand had written it. If it had ever made it to her, Carin could only hope – such words were not meant to be lost within the sands of time. She brushed the last few grains of sand from the now-brittle parchment, noting the sure brushstrokes and the elegant calligraphy.
To her right sat a heap of trash; broken pieces of pottery, a doll missing an arm, the hilt of a dagger… With a degree of reverence she placed the letter in the much smaller pile of items to her left. It would be from them that she would choose what few relics would leave this place with her.
Taking a deep breath Carin plunged her hands back into the ever-shifting sand…