The Letter
By markp
- 668 reads
The Letter
It wasn't until a couple of years later when he'd been sifting through
some old papers, that he's come across the letter.
The letter. The letter to HER.
The funny thing was, he had been sure that he had sent it on to her
following her departure for the States.
He had fond memories of her , most of which resided deep insided his
memory bank like old computer diskettes in a drawer. Like diskettes ,
these memories would fade into incompatibility with time , as his
mindset changed , I suppose like a computer being upgraded.
These were no longer the exposed wound that had ripped open when he had
been told that she'd met someone else. Someone else . 'I've met
someone, someone else' , he could hear her telling him. He fucking
hated when people said stuff like that. It pissed him off big time so
it did!!. Fucking right it did.
One of her friends from her time in the city, a redhead with a severe
tact deficiency, had spilled the beans one night in the pub.
He was on one of his misanthropic phases and had come out drinking
alone like some Bukowksi type character saying 'fucking' and 'shite'
all the time and acting like a real bastard. The redhead told him that
'their mutual friend' was head over heels in love with a guy from
Seattle.
Is his name Cobain?, he thought, in reference to the recently deceased
Nirvana frontman.
The redhead having passed on her news, he turned to his drink which he
threw back with a renewed vigour.
If truth be told, he felt betrayed by her, this was the first woman
he'd been in love with for a long time . The anger buit up inside him,
a fire he seemed to be able to extinguish by drinking copious
quantities of alcohol. The all time lows would come at three in the
morning as he walked home alone to the flat.
He would listen to the screaming splendour that was John Coltrane's 'A
Love Supreme'
in order to blot out his negative thoughts and reaffirm his existence.
His existence, his fucking existence .He couldn't really call what he
had a life.
A couple of times later on , when he'd recovered his self esteem, he
thought that he saw her in the streets of the city. There were no looks
of recognition from either party.
Time passed. Wounds healed. He learned to get along with folk again ,
maybe there were more fish in the sea , as mothers were wont to say,
yeah maybe there were.......
- Log in to post comments