Dear Saoirse: Part Two

A Story by K.H. Law

Second installment to my flash fiction series.

Dear Saoirse,

Today I went to Elliot’s Books. I walked up and down the aisles and lingered in the classic literature section. Obviously I don’t need to tell you that’s where we met. And I didn’t have an overwhelming feeling of sadness or melancholy while I was there. I didn’t mistakenly feel your presence as I had been there many times before we met, and many times after. It is just a comforting place, whether I’m thinking of you or not.

Granted, considering the nature of these letters, I did go to think about you and reminisce about how we met exactly. I bought another “rare” (how many of them can there possibly be at this one bookstore?) copy of Pride and Prejudice. Simply because it’s your favourite book and because there is that new miniseries coming out on t.v. based on it. It seems alright. You’ll probably wind up watching it no doubt.

“It’s cliché, I know, but Mr. Darcy is worth every swoon I could muster.” It is cliché, you’re right. Every pseudointellectual in the world claims Pride and Prejudice is their favourite book for such-and-such reasons, and cite that Mr. Darcy is the all-time literary mega hunk. But I get where you’re coming from. It’s still a great book. And I appreciate having it because you can quote it. I like having something and knowing it the same way you do. I’m sorry if that’s sickeningly sweet and disgusting, but, you know, I’m a writer and I use hyperbole and drama to exploit peoples’ emotions. And I hope to exploit yours in some way so you wind up coming back to Elliot’s with me and sitting in a large chair with a cup of tea and talking for hours.

My goal, however, is not to depress you, Saoirse. I just want to show you how much I love you and how much I have loved you for all this time. Much of what went wrong was because of my work and where I’ve been placed and where we were in life, and I didn’t make that easy on you. I tried to make you stay, tried to convince you it was the right thing to do. And showed you I was shattered when you left. I’m not trying to show you how destroyed I am now that you’re not around. I’m trying to eloquently (I said trying, whether or not it all comes out as eloquent is up to the fates) express to you how much I’ve always cared for you. Because for a while I thought the feelings were gone �" or at least I thought they were leaving. But you’re always in my mind, and you were the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning.

I had to walk away from the paper for a little while. I began to think, and it began to scare me. I realized that you’re always in my mind. But that’s only where you are. I’m not quite sure you will ever see me the way that I see you. And that scares me.

I’m scared you will only ever be in my mind, and these pages will all go to waste. I’m afraid that you will never once again be in front of me and smiling. Even if you’re with someone else (as earth destroying as that might be) I still want to see you, and know you, and be around you when you’re happy. And maybe if you’re with someone else and I can see that I will be able to officially move on and not have this idealized image of you and us in my mind all the time. Because those are the thoughts that drastically ruin us, don’t you think?

I think this one has gotten away from me a little bit. I think it was a little bit too dramatic in some ways, and I’m really sorry for sending this to you. But I promised myself I wouldn’t go back on anything I typed. Whatever comes out comes out and it’ll all probably be things I wanted to say so I don’t want to lose my nerve and scratch them. A little bit more natural in ways, I suppose. Better than in person because I would never be able to get any of it out. I would just stutter “I love you, I need you” and some other nonsense.

I need to stop writing now though. I need to take a break and prepare for when I leave London tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Peter