The Faded Light

The First Letter

The First Letter to Myself

A dying poet once, to his friend, asked that his grave would eternalise the words:

"Here lies one whose name was writ in water."

And whilst I would not imply that I know better than that poet, the legend that is Keats, I feel that this rule applies to all, and is held very close to our chests:

I am one whose name, within your heart, was writ in water.

For Keats' lines immortalise him, but my name, my awful, awful Pickles name, and the feelings that it once did call have rode away: the waves that held them now spread off towards eternity.

It has been almost a year since you left: a year that has seen me cycle through the various stages of grief and life. I have ridden those waves of your amnesia, I have cheered at your departure, I have proved myself upon other women… and I have cried, and sat, and cried, and lain in my bed, in its loving comfort.

Kimi, your name is a scream that lasts with every letter; a call that beckons your return to my soul; a lie that haunts me in my sleep; an image that grows clearer as it fades. I have sat and shouted, called you up to find your number has been disconnected, I have pained to find your mind behind another front. But, I haven't. Perhaps, in a stranger's eyes, I see you for a second… but then you leave again.

I try to "move on", I try to look into the sky and find another course: I look up, now as I write this, and the window in front of me remains open and causes the pages to growl at me. I see the northern star, and perhaps my route could be defined under its rays. But that same point will flit about the sky as the days draw on.

I will reach a point where I only think of you a single time a day. You are just a flashing ache, barely a pang, that I shake off and move on. Those days are lighter in their light. But, the time will come when the dreams return. You will be there, as you always were: a stranger in the scenes, perhaps. That is how it starts.

But then you come back. Not just a flirtatious, cheeky glance from another girl, but the object of my thoughts. You sometimes shun me: you tell me that you have moved on, and hug and kiss and touch the man who now makes your heart and eyes sing… But, sometimes it is worse. Sometimes my dreams show me that look that you once had, that touch that you once gave…

It was your eyes, Kimi. They were so expressive. So deep, so light… so heavy! There was a fire in those orbs, and for a short while it burned so hotly I could stare at it all day: it thrilled me, yet it calmed me. I saw love in them. Love! Love! A word I wish that I could wear out with overuse. I will say it enough: it will lose its meaning!

Love.

Love!

Love!

I still love you…

Even now, my lip quivers to catch a tear. I should have become a drought by now, but still the rains come. I am sodden…

But, I saw something that I could never wish on my worst enemy: I saw the Sun go out.

The Sun could never be forgotten by any that had seen it. Should it go out, and the night be thrown upon us, and should we survive the cold, we would look to the east and see it still. We would look to the east and wish that it would rise again and warm us. We would never forget the brightness of its orb. We would never… because it was our life.

But it would merely be another "was".

I saw those eyes, once burning for me, fade and cool. I looked into your eyes and saw nothing. No more of that love that thrilled, no more of that love that comforted. I saw nothing at all. A pair of black eyes that looked at me as if I were another random wanderer that we chat with; another wanderer with whom we speak to fill the silence for the short while, before we reach that eternal one. I was just another child.

How could that happen?

How could the fuel run out?

I wish I could say that I blame myself, or you. But I blame neither. The question doesn't resonate with me, so I cannot even hope to answer it. I cannot begin to understand the question!

Perhaps it is a fire. No fire can burn forever. No star can shine forever. Perhaps the sun really has gone out.

Then why does mine remain?

The warmth of her sad, intense, beautiful eyes gave me power. She fuelled me with that warmth… Perhaps my eyes did not show her the same. Perhaps I could not lend her heat.

Or did she burn so bright my meagre feelings burned away so quickly? She was intense. So intense…

And your body… Some part of me wishes to be "romantic"… But what is romance without lust? It is a strange fact: Lust can fall over you without Romance, but never can Romance fall upon you without its saucy brother. Lust is a misanthrope, I think…

I ramble and diverge. Perhaps that was another reason… I wanted to tell you so badly how amazing you were. I tried at every chance I had: you looked so beautiful in the morning, with eyes that you would rub to redness to escape the lull of sleep. Eyes that you would rub to redness to be with me. You would wake up on my shoulder, to find me staring with my stupid smile on my face, rub your eyes, then snuggle tighter.

"I want to be awake and asleep with you."

She wasn't the best with words, perhaps, but she could say things better than I ever could. That statement proves it. I smile… even now.

I hated going to sleep, too. I hated lying in bed knowing that I would have to wait so long to see you again. You were beautiful in your sleep, but incomplete. At risk of sounding ridiculous to my future self, reading this, when you slept you were a single motif. Wachet Auf's first "line".

But when you woke…

You became a symphony.

I can't any more.

This is too much for me to bear for the moment. Already there's a tear drop on this paper. I am being indulgent.

This is so short. Furious again. Fire seems to be a theme.

There will be more. So don't give up.

You will be well again.

You will.

Best and Kindest Regards,

Tommy Pickles