A final letter

It's a grey day. The clouds look even greyer than yesterday. Rain falls down but not the strong refreshing summer rain kind, it's the light drizzle that trickles down like tears. Quiet, grey tears. You feel a connection to this rain. It seems like a mirror of your soul.

You haven't slept in days. Just been sitting here, hour by hour passing by, staring through the window, staring at the greyness outside. Your eyes burn and all your bones ache but really, what does it matter anymore?

You shouldn't have read that letter. If only you hadn't opened it. It just destroyed everything. Minutes before, your life had been peaceful, happy even. Then the sharp black letters bore into your brain. Word by word you read that letter and each word was like a tiny knife poking into your heart. The world stood still. And it hasn't started moving since.

How much you'd give to be able to go back and leave the letter be, closed as it was. Just to ignore it, to let time go by and make you forget all about it. But no, your curious brain wanted to know. The name on the envelope awakened so many long-forgotten feelings in you. Such a yearning. Oh, you had missed that name. You even felt a bit giddy. Hopeful maybe. You thought, finally. Finally a sign of life. Maybe a sign of forgiveness. You thought the letter spoke to you. Thought you heard whispers about so many possiblities.

But reading the very first line, your heart broke all over again.

It had been fine. You had been fine. Not happy, but okay. Living your life. It could've gone on like this forever. Like a dream, a peaceful dream, where you don't have to think about all that had happened so many years ago.

But now you're awake. You're as awake as you've ever been.

You try to get those words out of your mind but they won't leave. "Dear Janine", it said. But the writing wasn't that familiar one that you used to cherish and later fear out of sheer guilt. In fact, the handwriting was completely foreign to you. Very sharp and strong and harsh.

"There has been an accident."

"No!", you wanted to scream. "No, no, no!". But instead you were silent. There were no tears, no screams, no thoughts. Just blankness.

Death is such a final thing. It always seems to be so far away. Intimidating and scary of course, but far, far away. Now it's like Death has come to your door and waited for you in the most private part of your home, just to jump out of a corner and scare you, well, scare you to death.

You tried to calm down of course. You tried to tell yourself that he surely forgave you before he died, that he didn't have any harsh feelings towards you in his last moments, that everything will be alright, that he died peacefully, in peace with himself and the world, in peace with you.

But you know that's a lie. No one ever truly dies peacefully. Not really. There are people who get admirably close. But you two, you don't belong to this group of people. You have so much hate, so much regret, so much sadness and repressed anger. You live from day to day and tell yourself that one day you will find your peace, you imagine lying on your deathbed and finally being able to forgive them and to forgive yourself but deep down you know that's not gonna happen. And reading this letter, you know that it didn't happen for him either.

At least it was over quickly, you tell yourself. At least something. But then you imagine his terror, his screaming, the last seconds when he knew he wasn't going to survive this and suddenly you feel a wave of guilt hitting you. Of course it's all your fault in the end. Of course it is. The letter might say differently, it might tell you not to blame yourself but you are the only one left who knows the truth. And you know that you're the right one to blame.

You knew you shouldn't open that letter. You had such a nice illusion of him living on a nice tropical island with the sun smiling down on him and him smiling back. You had imagined that he had successfully escaped your sickness, that he got away. But you had already drowned him. When he got into that car, that fateful day many years ago, when he drove away as fast as he could, muttering many heartfelt excuses, crying like pouring rain, it was already to late. You told yourself that he managed to get free, he managed to build a life far away from you and all your issues. You felt so relieved. Sad, but relieved. You finally managed to find some peace after that. Your sickness seemed to lighten a bit, knowing that he was safe. You just had to keep away from intimate relationships with other humans in the future and all would be fine. You would never hurt anyone again.

Now you now that was a lie. A comfortable lie, but still a lie. The letter tells you that. "An accident". 180 kilometers per hour. Straight against a tree. No curves, no other cars. Just him, a wide, straight street, a sunny day and a single tree. You know it wasn't an accident. You know he didn't succeed in getting away. You still had him caught in your claws and he never, never got to be free again.

Well, until now. No matter how painful his life and his death had been, now he's free, isn't he? You stare at the rain. Drop by drop. He's free. Truly free. You can't hurt him anymore. Wherever he is now, if he is at all, he's in peace. Your shoulders drop. You didn't realise how much you had tensed them the whole time. Muscle by muscle relaxes. And you finally begin to sleep again.