🦃  Thanksgiving & Gratitude Contest Winner

Dearest,

I recalled, this morning, a day when we were most joyous. The sun shone so brightly upon the lake yonder, and you rested your pretty head upon my shoulder. How lovely you were--how lovely you’ve always been--when you smiled thusly against my neck. We leaned back against that rickety, old park bench, as we always used to do. You looked down at our intertwined hands and caressed my fingers with your thumb. Your hands trailed softly against my coarse skin as my free hand ran down the tendrils of your dark hair. 

It’s rather humorous to think about, really; in all those days we spent in that park, your head on my shoulder and our hands intertwined, you never did look at me. Yet, my gaze could never stray from you, from your hair cascading down my shoulder like a waterfall of twilight. I imagined your eyes, even though you refused to face me. I wondered if you knew I was watching; perhaps that is why you never raised your head. I wondered many things about us, and I recall being struck with a deep sadness; can you believe that? It was a sunny, joyous day. You were laughing and rambling on, your voice like a sweet melody. I still could not help but weep. 

I visited that bench again. Night has settled upon the old park. The lake is so still--did you ever realize it? It’s so undisturbed and so very peaceful…The stars shimmer like pearls upon the gentle ripples, though they are scarce. The grass looks overgrown, too; it’s been a long time since someone cared for it. I wonder how we ever found this place. It feels so isolated now.

I know not why I'm writing this to you. In all honesty, I hope I do not return home to leave this letter to you. It is cold tonight; the wind whips my hair about and brings with it an incessant chill. My hands are shivering as I write. I fear my handwriting will look very lousy--a trivial matter, I know, but you know how I can be. I don’t want to seem panicked--really, I am very calm.

I don’t mean to startle you, dearest. You have loved me very well throughout the years, and I fear I haven’t loved you enough in return; it’s a testament to your good-nature, really, how you can still love someone who's so obsessed with herself. There is a constant fog surrounding me. It obscures my vision of you--of your wonderful smile and of your lovely eyes--and my eyes trick me into seeing a rather apathetic and cruel hallucination of you. I know you are not so, but the mist is impenetrable, and I have not the will to try to traverse past it. Do you understand what I’m telling you? 

Thus, when you read this, know that you have never fallen short. I would have loved you for a lifetime, had I not been afflicted with this incessant fog. I wish not to burden you with my illness, as I know I shan’t recover: I will not allow it. 

I awoke tonight with a sole purpose. I wished to have kissed you goodbye, but you looked so peaceful in your slumber: still and undisturbed, just like the lake before me. I’m sorry to suddenly spoil this spot we once loved so dearly.

I’m thinking of your eyes again. I wish I could look at them now.

I love you, my dearest. Remember me fondly.

Yours