It may seem strange that I choose to do this. It certainly feels odd to me, but I felt it necessary. Hopefully you'll see why and not just dismiss me or this missive. Although, do feel free to burn it after reading.
Only days ago, you accused me of being enigmatic and mysterious on purpose. I'm not. Not really. I just don't like to talk about myself in any great detail. It implies a level of trust that those of a more chaste nature reserve for those with whom they choose to share their bed. It's backwards by societies standards, I know, but for me physical intimacy is far easier and less complicated than any other kind. I barely know you, so how could I be sure that I could trust you? I couldn't and I still can't, but it doesn't really matter now.
When I first saw you, drunken upon a table, I had thought to pass you by. I don't usually seek my warmth from the broken hearted. It's just too easy and carries too much risk. I should have just gone on but I saw something in you that caused me pause. A need, not so different from my own. You smiled in your sleep that night. I saw it before I departed and, for the first time in a long time, I felt a small sense of accomplishment.
Thank you for that.
I hadn't intended to see you afterwards, but you found me anyway. You heard my words to that young man and whether feigned for my sake or your own, for a moment I could almost believe that someone cared for my fate.
Thank you for that.
I never led you on, nor you me. We both knew that what we were engaged in was only temporary; a brief sharing of warmth and comfort to ease the way forward. Even so, for but a heartbeat, I harboured foolish notions of something more, of perhaps finding the one thing that has always eluded me. For whatever reason, it seemed, for an instant, that you may have held that potential.
Thank you for that.
Then, of course, you forgot about me. I stood right where you'd asked me to wait and you just didn't come back. Perhaps I should have just left. Perhaps I'd not be writing this now if I'd done so... but I would, wouldn't I?
You said that it seemed to you that I held some great weight that I just would not let go. You were right; I do. But it's naught to do with Eordion, the man I argued with in the hallway. It's not about broken hearts or hurt feelings. It's about the fundamental truth of me, the very thing that I have run from and tried to deny for as long as I have lived. It's a thing that I simply cannot escape no matter how far I travel or how hard I try.
I've long since grown tired. I've long since passed the point of exhaustion. I can't do this anymore. I can't live this way and pretend that I'm alright. You thought I wanted to die because a man had broken my heart. It's not so. I want to die because life holds nothing for me anymore. No amount of new horizons or alcohol is going to change that. I know what I am. I've always known. The only way I can get away from it is to enter that final slumber, to find my final peace.
Of course, I can't do that lying down. I will go out in one last gloriously crazy attempt to make history - in some less than savoury and very restricted circles, of course - because I have to. This was the only thing that I found joy in, the only thing that kept me going for so long. It's fitting that I find my end in it.
So, why am I writing this to you, you must wonder. You owe me nothing, as I owe you nothing. We're not close. We're not friends. We just slept together a few times. For a woman like me, that's meaningless, right?
Maybe.
I'm writing this to you because yours was the last kindness I knew. I'm writing this to you because someone should know. I'm writing this to you to thank you.
I truly hope that whatever lies in store for you, it is good. I truly hope that you smile that smile in the night a thousand times more in the years ahead. I truly hope that you find what it is that you need outside of the bottle.
Thank you most of all for making me feel, even if only for a moment, that I was worth someones' time.
Warmest regards,
Silver.
Sairona.
Rajana.
Pick one: they're all real.
