“Ivory Paper” Fiction. Based on True Love Letter Unsent.

Inspired by Ruby

“Ivory Paper”

Fiction. Based on True Love Letter Unsent.

by Guest Contributor

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Dearest Sully,

I always begin letters by saying that I don’t know what to say. You were the expert, friend, not I. As I stare at the ivory paper, alone, I try to imagine how you did it. You sent me a letter that night; your will and testament.
Words are sharp as knives, friend. They can cut through bone. Did you not know that or were you planning on killing two people that night instead of one? You saw a gun fitting for yourself and a knife fit for me. In only five words, you pulled me underground into Earth’s cold embrace. I was already cold, and I have never met this cold before.
I dreamt of the Hollywood sign. I have concocted stories of death. There was never an ending poetic enough, painless enough, and not quiet. Nothing was ever enough, not even death. How do I die without taking the ones I love with me? That’s the thing, it’s impossible.
Thank you for proving that to me.
You flirted with Life so casually that she fell in love with you – not the love of kisses in the rain and sex on Sunday mornings. It was the love of camaraderie, something more than friendship, but not romance. Loving someone is not a choice, but loving you was easy.
You said you loved me. You said you loved me. You said you loved me. Then, why did you leave? I lost a part of me when I lost you. What did you lose? Nothing that you wanted.
The air became too heavy for your lungs to hold. Atlas bore the weight of the sky on his own, but you couldn’t. Three little words were all I needed to hear before that night arrived: “help me, please.” Atlas didn’t get that chance. You did and the sky crushed you.
A year later, I enter a café on Main Street and sit to write to you. The world around me flaunts of how they knew you, manufacturing their pain by stealing the remnants of mine. I sit and great Grief as an old friend. She waves her hand, conducting the world to silence.
My head quiets. Grief is the silent friend, holding my hand, somberly guiding me through the dark.
I love you.


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