-

On Waterloo Bridge, where we said our goodbyes,
The weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love.

- Wendy Cope

-

J is for jealousy.

-

She still has memories. Time cannot hurt them; time cannot erase the memory of him. It cannot erase the memory of the darkly rich crimson walls. It cannot erase the memory of the piercing eyes or the endearing voice.

Normal. She's forgotten what that feels like. She's forgotten what it's like to feel whole. She's forgotten what it feels like to be loved unconditionally by one person. She's forgotten how to live.

She misses the gentle warmth of his body next to hers. She misses his gentle frown when he's confused. She misses his soft touch, the way his voice becomes husky when she's alone with him. She misses him. She needs him more than she can say, more than she can express. More than she can scream.

It's complicated. Emotion's are. Life is. She's dealing with it. From inside her little box she's dealing with it in the one way she knows how. She has suffered enough loss, enough heartbreak, to know how she can do it. She can bawl and cry. Or she can accept it. She's trying to. She's nearly there.

She can hear his voice inside her head. She can hear his whispered encouragement inside her ear.

This is just another operation, just another day on the grid. She's out in the field; he's talking into her ear piece, telling her that she's doing well, that he's proud of her, that she's his special girl. This is just another Curtis, just another Shining Dawn, just another threat. He's still there beside her.

If they'd been two ordinary people with two ordinary 9 to 5 jobs it would have been different. Maybe she should have stayed at GCHQ, maybe she shouldn't have stayed after her secondment. Maybe she should have gone back to the bloody mathematicians. Maybe.

-

K is for knowledge.

-

They say ignorance is bliss. Perhaps it is. Perhaps not knowing is better than knowing. Perhaps if she hadn't known she wouldn't have done what she did. Perhaps she would have faced him sooner, told him exactly where he stood. Perhaps they would have had months, years, before they had to say goodbye. Perhaps they might have had just one happy ending.

Her life had begun to follow a pattern of perhaps, maybes, one days. She is losing her grip upon reality. Sinking into the quicksand of heart break. Falling into the depths of despair. She needs him to pull her out. She's waiting.

She's becoming an intricate web of fairytale princesses. Of Snow Whites, of Sleeping Beauties, of Cinderella's. She's different to them though. They all had their happy ending at the end of the book. She's been denied that privilege. She's the Little Mermaid. She disappears into the foam on the last page. She leaves behind one life and enters the next.

She hardly cares anymore. Her tasks are limited to a small 3;

Get up.

Survive.

Go back to bed.

She's struggling with surviving without him. She wants the knowledge that he's safe. She wants to know that this time he's true to his word.

-

L is for letters.

-

He's been replying to all her letters. She has to admit that she likes it. Somehow the eloquent conversation of poetry and prose they're having is what is keeping her functioning. What is keeping her eating and drinking and sleeping. They're the glue that holds her together.

Ruth, my darling 19/11/06

On Waterloo Bridge, with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
The head does it best but the heart is the boss –

I admit it before I am halfway across.

Harry xxx

She stars at the boldened areas of text. Maybe his pen wasn't working properly. Maybe he was just frustrated as he wrote them down. Then she sees it. Clear as a diamond. Transparent as glass. Waterloo bridge. Halfway across. 19/11/06.

It's tomorrow.