Dearest Peter,

I said to you once, it was always Liam. But now I think, it'll always be you. Maybe in some twisted way, Liam's death gave me a release. It took a while, years even. But I was able to move on and find solace again.

Find you.

You really were my shelter for the longest time, Peter. My love, my everything I guess.

It's like, you know when you're driving in the pouring rain and it's hammering so hard against the car you think it will never stop? You're blinded and you can't see where you're going next or where to turn to? Then you pass under a bridge and for a moment, everything stops. You can see again and the world is quiet finally. But then you have to keep moving and suddenly the bridge is gone and everything is how it was before but this time the rain hits a bit harder and it's all the more tougher than it was previously.

You were my bridge.

Admittedly, my bridge wasn't the biggest or the strongest and sometimes it crumbled and let the rain in slightly but it was my bridge all the same and I loved it. But my bridge was fleeting and it was gone before I had the chance to stop it.

Well I could have stopped it. I could have stayed under that bridge away from the rain and the storm brewing outside but that would have been wrong. Because eventually, I fear it would have collapsed completely and taken me with it.

Although I don't suppose that matters anymore because, well, I don't need to say it do I.

I can't stay in this world any longer, Peter. Not after what I have done and what I have caused. I'm sure you have heard by now, I thought maybe you'd be in touch but it is probably for the best you stayed away. I would have too, after all I am almost a murderer now.

I want you to know I don't blame you anymore. Not now. I have almost forgiven it all, or at least I would have if you would have come back and held me again. Your love might have been my saviour, Peter. If you would have stayed. I do not blame you though, so do not blame yourself.

Do not cry for me, my love. And do not let the others. I think I will finally find peace and I have waited so long for such a comforting feeling. But;

I hope it hurts you, Peter. My death. I hope it burns.

I hope one day, maybe not far from now, you're walking down a street and you hear someone shout my name. I hope your head whips round so quickly but then you realise and then you have to carry on about your day as though your heart hasn't just been ripped in two.

I hope you see a stranger with hair that falls just as mine fell drinking across from you and somehow I am so tangible you could almost reach out and touch me.

I hope you hear our song on the radio and it stays in your head, taunting you when you sleep. I hope you see my face, hear the way it sounded when your name left my lips.

I hope you think of me when you're making love. I hope I am the only face you ever see and I hope you draw blood as you bite your lip to stop yourself screaming my name.

I hope you look through photos of us in an old worn out photo album when you're just as old and worn out as the pictures inside. I hope your grandchild asks who the woman with the sparkling eyes is and you remember all over again, even though you hardly remember anything at all anymore.

I hope no one ever loves you the way I did. I hope no one ever makes your skin tingle with a mere touch. But I hope they love you all the same.

I hope you're happy. But my god, darling, I hope it hurts.

Well, I can't stay much longer. So this is our goodbye, my goodbye. And my thank you. When I'm there waiting for you, wherever there is, our memories will keep me warm. For now, sweet dreams and I'll be watching.

Your very own angel,

Yours, Carla.


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