A/N: Just a little drabble thing to help me overcome my recent Moulin Rouge obsession. I've been having trouble figuring out why everyone says Christian writes such excellent letters (I've read so many fics about his letters…)
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He had tried. Oh, how he had tried. But no words seemed good enough for her, nothing would ever amount to what he felt, to make her understand without song.
For all he could write, for all the songs and stories and poems, Christian could never write a letter. But, worse than that, he could never write a letter to her.
To even write her name brought him to tears. He had a hundreds sheets of paper, scrunched up and thrown around his apartment, each starting with 'My Dear S--' or 'My love, My Sat--'. Once he finally found the appropriate words to start his letter, he could never think of what to say. In a final letter, what words would be appropriate? Should he speak of their lives, or what happened afterwards? Was it worth speaking of anything? Should he share his thoughts simply, or explain them in the endless detail they deserved?
And this is why he wrote his story. As a promise, as an escape. As his final letter.
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