All's fair in love and war

Dear Jess,

Bit of a mundane start, really. I would have expected better from a journalist. Especially a political journalist, I mean, they're supposed to be good at making something sound better than it is, aren't they?

Ok, so the bitterness is uncalled for. Sort of. I'm just not so sure that I want to read this. No, scratch that. I wasn't sure when I picked it up from my mailbox this morning. Now I'm seeing my name written out in her neat loopy handwriting and the blotchy ink further down the page when she started crying and I'm positive that I don't want to read this. Fuck. Here goes.

~*~

Dear Jess,

This letter is a long time in coming but I think fruit baskets are a little contrived and I'd be breaking pollution laws or something silly like that if I sent a smoke signal, so it was either this or a postcard and since I'm not entirely sure if I "wish-you-were-here", I went with the safe option. At this point you're probably thinking "good old safe Rory", and you'd be right.

This is the fifteenth version of this letter and the only one that hasn't made it into the trash yet so its outlook is good so far. It's probably not the sort of letter you keep until you're eating your food through a straw and showing your keepsakes to the grandkids but I hope it's still important to you.

If I'm honest, I don't understand why people do that-hoard everything that has any sort of sentimental value, and yet my Jess Box grows in monumental proportions every time I see you. Its most recent addition is my ticket stub from the classics convention.

I'm sorry. "Sorry"-it feels like the weakest word in the world right now. It's funny how words lose power as they gain meaning, isn't it? But I've got a lot to apologise for. And so have you. Don't get me wrong though, I felt so guilty for what I did both at Truncheon and in Hartford. I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy kissing you or that it didn't mean anything, it's just that you shouldn't have to be subjected to the crazy way my mind (and my mouth!) works whenever I'm around you.

I'm also sorry for trying to pressure you into taking Dean's place. You're not Dean, you never were and you never will be and if I'm being totally honest, I didn't want you to be. I wanted you as you were, no exaggerations or embellishments. Just you. But I didn't know how the whole second boyfriend thing was supposed to go, especially when the whole town was used to me being with Dean and thought I was making a huge mistake in being with you. Everyone always thinks I'm so damn fragile but you let me be myself and I could just never fathom why I couldn't do the same for you.

And now we get down to it. The real reason for this letter. All the time you were gone (a subject for another time, I think), I lied more than I have ever done. I told everyone that it didn't matter that your were gone, that I'd cope, that my feelings for you weren't that strong-thinking that if I said it enough, I'd start to believe it too.

I threw myself into school, thinking that Yale, with its beautiful (draughty!) libraries and the brightest minds in the country could cure my aching need for you but it just compounded this ache further because I wanted to share it all with you. We studied "The Sun Also Rises" in my Modern Lit. class and I barely paid any attention because all I could do was wonder what you would have written in your margin notes. I'm sure that at this point, you're warming up to utter a "huh" but if you could, I'd like you to hold it in for a little while. I get the feeling that you're going to need it later because I'm still not quite finished.

The truth is that I have no idea why I kissed you. I have a weakness for you, Jess, and I think it's safe to assume that it's not the sort of weakness that fades over time.

You give me butterflies in a way that no one else has ever done. They're the sort of butterflies that leave your stomach churning with nerves, but I love that feeling. You make me nervous and yet I'm so comfortable around you. It's true that it's the most amazing feeling in the world when you find someone who compliments and completes you absolutely, but there's just something about not knowing what that person is going to do next that makes love so exciting.

I suppose what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that I'm willing to fight for you. Fight for us, really. And even if at the end of this fight you decide that you don't want this too, I want you to know that you were, and still are, worth it. All of it.

I'm forever yours.

Love,

Your Rory

p.s. feel free to "huh" now.

~*~

Huh.

For once, I'm speechless. I'm forever yours. Wow. Now that was unexpected. I was anticipating an "I fucked up, don't contact me" sort of letter, not a love letter.

I suppose I should reply. I mean, that's not exactly the sort of letter that you can leave hanging, is it? I can have a bit of fun though, right? I mean, they do say that all's fair in love and war.

Love, huh? Yeah. That feels about right.

Dear Rory…