It was winter in Los Angeles, which didn't mean a damn thing. She strode towards the mailbox, trying her best to walk tall and not look so nervous. It was just a letter. It was paper. It was words. It was lines and curves. It was nothing.
Yet it was everything.
She looked down at the envelope. The stamp, the name written on it, the return address, the seal. All so confident, so controlled, and so...final. It annoyed Allison. It made her aware that she was not confident, that she was not controlled, and that nothing about her feelings for Adam was 'final'.
In a moment of cowardice she tore open the envelope. She wanted to re-read the letter one last time.
Dear Adam,
I'm sorry for anything I did to drive you away from me. I'm sorry for blaming you for a lot of things that were probably my fault. I won't blame you for leaving. I won't be happy about it either. I wrote you a bunch of songs but none of them are good enough. There aren't really words for what we had. Thanks for everything, because I don't even know who I'd be now if I had never fallen in love with you. I'm trying not to change, but it's probably time to. Know that you'll always be my favorite because no one could ever come close to meaning all you mean to me. You'll never just be an ex to me.
There's so much tying me to you. The songs we wrote together, watching chick flicks, black nail polish, chocolate ice cream, blue eyes, and every dream I'd had in the past sixteen months. I don't know how I'm going to do this when everywhere I go, something reminds me of you. We shared so much, and now I think it's just a matter of breaking ties, whether I want to or not.
I'm not going to regret you. I'm not. I can't push away the best memories I have. It's not right to hate something so beautiful just because it's over now. We'll still be friends. I promise.
And just for the record, I love you more.
Don't forget me,
Allison
Tears formed as she read it again. It was selfish. It was stupid and childish and selfish. And it wasn't going to help anything. Sending Adam a letter wouldn't help anything. It'd open old wounds in him and keep the desire burning inside her. And that's not what either of them needed.
She ran inside. She ran into the kitchen. She grabbed a lighter. She ran outside.
She folded the letter in half before setting it on the ground and lighting the corner on fire.
And it was bright as the words became curled and distorted, backing down into their parts, back into letters, shapes, particles, nothing. The meaning evaporated, becoming little more than a by-product, and all that was left was fire and matter and light.
And that felt so good to Allison.
Because she was done with meaning. She was done with love and feelings and happiness and other people. Not forever, but for the time being. She did not need sad letters. All she needed was fire and matter and light.
She walked away and left the last little corner of the paper to burn.
