My Dearest Patsy,
My Mam asked me what the nature of our relationship was; I just looked at her with the blank lost expression I so often have now ideas. The nature of you and me is a secret we share, a quiet whisper, a meaningful look exchanged across the room. It's a fleeting touch and a hidden smile, no more than a subtle suggestion. It is not the kind of feeling that should exist as a shout to the world or a dramatic proposition. It's quiet, private, a question only we know the answer to. And oh, what an answer it is. What an answer it was Pats.
When I finally get the courage to put pen to paper three years and three days have passed since the night I fell in love with you.I have spent the last 3 and a half months miles and miles away from you.i couldn't even write at first, but since then I have tried to write this letter six times. My Mam doesn't want me to come back to London, and I can't leave her Pats. I am so sorry. I don't know how you say goodbye to whom and what you love. I don't know a painless way to do it and I don't want to cause you any more pain. It's not easy to write a letter that one doesn't really want to write. Behind these sentences are the tears, the feeling, the memories that we have and the love i have for you.
I want you to remember me. I don't mean that unkindly. I promise pats. I don't long to haunt you five years from now with what could have been if I hadn't taken your bike. If my mother hadn't got involved. I just want you to remember us, who were together. Remember us as being something real, something that once, once upon a time I could've held in my hands. Do that for me Pats? Don't remember us as ghosts. And I'll remember you too. I will keep the photograph whole and dated. So someday I can look back and say 'yes that happened'.
Maybe one day if I ever make it back to London, or you ever stumble upon my small village in Pembrokeshire we will see each other again, perhaps at a local shop and as I stand holding slightly bruised fruit. I will catch your eye and I won't remember if you like butter on your toast but well smile – just slightly and I will be able to tell if you're truly happy, and you will be. Then maybe I will go home and say 'Im happy for her' and I will mean it.
But the truth is you're going to forget me. It won't be fast or sudden or something where I'm clear one day and an empty space the next. But, slowly, you'll forget the sound of my voice, and then you won't be able to picture the shape of my face, and eventually you'll be looking at the sky right before the clouds start pouring rain, and you won't be quite able to place the familiarity of that colour, but it will be the same gray-blue that is my eyes.
You'll no longer know that, though. I'll just be an outline, a blurry body of disconnected memories that occasionally fits into your past. And that's okay. Some people aren't meant to be remembered. I'm just one of those people.
I do love you Pats, oh I do, But your life must go on now I'm not there.
Do one thing for me? Don't blame yourself Cariad, don't spend hours going over then events like you can change them. Try to hold your head up and help Sister Monica Joan with the tree. Do it for me Cariad.
I love you. I realise that's the best way to say goodbye. Thank you for making me feel so loved for so long. I will have you in my heart, a little chunk of you, always. Have a wonderful life, I genuinely mean it
Thank you for not being a ghost anymore. Thank you for the adventure Miss Patience Mount, now go and have your own.
Much Love
Delia