The Last Letter

What could have been.

Fragments of the last letter Trev wrote on Hyneria
 

"Trev, I want to show you something," said Em. "I've never shown these to anyone. Promise me you won't laugh." Em opened the drawer to her desk and pulled out several letters. "I've been writing these since we left Hyneria, almost two hundred by last count."

Trev picked up a letter. Ran his finger alone the edge, flipped it over and back. Holding it to the light, he remarked the ink, the handwriting, the care and penmanship.

"You think I'm silly, don't you," said Em.

"Who do you write them to?"

"My dad."

"All of them?"

"Yep."

"All handwritten. On paper."

Em grabbed the letter from his hand. "I'm sorry I showed them to you."

"No, no."

"You think I'm crazy. I can see it in your eyes."

"Em--"

"Just go. Please, go."

"Baby," Trev reached out to move the hair from her eyes. "Look at me. I don't think you're crazy."

"Then what?"

Trev looked away. "It's just . . ."

Em reached to his face. "Just what?"

"It's just that I used to write letters too. Handwritten. Maybe not two hundred. But I wrote a lot of them. Posted every one."

With her other hand, Em brought Trev's face to hers. "Tell me."

"I suppose, like your letters, I never got a response. Never knew if they were received. Never knew if they were read. Each one, a hope. Each one, a piece of me. The ink might has well been my blood. You can only bleed so much. You can only hope so long, but you know what?"

"What baby, tell me?"

"I wrote them anyway. I wrote them to the last. And I held hope, to the bitter end."

"Your tears on the dock. She didn't show did she?"

"Nope. She didn't show."

Reviews

[AutumnStorm]

So hard to take that leap sometimes, of exposure, of revelation, and in that moment of leaping there is bravery that lasts only as long as until the drop starts. It's done. Will there be a catch or a crash. Em is a catcher. There has been more opportunity for her to show herself as such. Such a relief to see understanding, to see reciprocation, honest reciprocation. Hope, unfaltering though there have been moments that would cause it, that these two will continue to open their hearts to one another. Have to admit to a flutter each time there's a reference to another as 'baby'. Something solid, this common denominator, of letters written, heart and soul on paper though one knows they will never be answered and the other held hope long after it might have died. Wonder anew at the conception, of how a chapter such as this comes to be, wide-eyed coupled with delight in the magic of it. Wonderfully laid out, paced, bitter-sweet which you do exceptionally well, then and now, the writing and the lack of response. Great skill you possess, awesome vision and insight, knowledge, of what the end will be and how to go about achieving it. Inspired in other words.

[Lorraine Pearson]

"The ink might have well been my blood" -- Oh how we bleed to death- dying to hope sometimes...yet the journey in such a death is so enlightening, and often free-ing. Bittersweet, like Merlot perhaps. :) This chapter pained me to read in a sentimental way...quite lovely.
~L

[Lorraine Pearson]

"The ink might have well been my blood" -- Oh how we bleed to death- dying to hope sometimes...yet the journey in such a death is so enlightening, and often free-ing. Bittersweet, like Merlot perhaps. :) This chapter pained me to read in a sentimental way...quite lovely.
~L

[Lorraine Pearson]

"The ink might have well been my blood" -- Oh how we bleed to death- dying to hope sometimes...yet the journey in such a death is so enlightening, and often free-ing. Bittersweet, like Merlot perhaps. :) This chapter pained me to read in a sentimental way...quite lovely.
~L