June 1, 2013

Dear S,

This has become a habit now. A useless habit. I used to think that I would send all these letters to you, someday. I was playing around with the idea of leaving them somewhere I knew you’d find them. After all, they are a pretty good representation of the effect you’ve had on my life.

But I now know that I’m never going to show them to you. Never.

Always Yours,

R

***

June 12, 2012

Dear S,

It’s been a week since I heard from you. A week since you went away on that work trip, promising to call me every day.

Writing a letter to you is probably the silliest thing I can do right now – considering that I’ve not been able to reach your phone. Considering that I’ve been emailing you daily, your obvious lack of response doing nothing to diminish my hope – I still check my inbox every five minutes. Also, I don’t really have an address to post this to.

And yet, here I am. I’m writing more for me than you, I guess.

I keep hearing the promises you whispered to me on those dreamy, magical nights. Those nights were too short, I tell you. Too short, and too few, and too long ago in the past.

The story of what you did to the-other-R refuses to get out of my head. You said that he had been a mistake, and cutting off all contact and moving to a different place was the only way you could get rid of him. You said you would never do something like that to me, no matter what. You promised me. Did I make a mistake by trusting you?

Yours,

R

***

July 1, 2012

Dear S,

You’re a whore, you know that? A whore without the morals of one.

I’ve never said this to you, because I was a fool who didn’t want to hurt you. But you’re a coward. A soulless, cowardly whore – that’s exactly what you are.

When you cheated on me, you didn’t even have the guts to come up to me and confess. Everything continued as it was, except I could feel a distance that had not been there before. When I found out about it and confronted you – when you were backed into a corner – that’s when you broke down and said that you didn’t want to hurt me. And guess what? I believed you. I don’t even know if you’ve been faithful to me after that. Or before that. I just blindly trusted you, because I didn’t want to lose you at any cost.

I’m a naive idiot. And you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

R

***

August 22, 2012

Dear S,

I was fired from my job yesterday.

It’s been more than two months. I don’t even know if you’re alive – your silence has been so complete and all encompassing.

You know, I told mom about you exactly a month before you disappeared. I certainly didn’t expect a positive reaction from her, but she was kind of supportive in her own stoic way. I was elated that day. And the day I had to tell her that it was over, I knew it shattered her – because she knew it shattered me.

I never knew I had it in me to become an alcoholic – I was always too optimistic, too sure of myself. Remember how I used to make fun of Devdas? How stupid can a guy be, to throw his life away over one girl – those were my exact words. I know exactly what it feels like, now.

It’s a dark road to go down. And the funny thing is that I know it. I know that I’m spiraling, digging my own grave, and making it bigger each day. And that knowledge is not making any difference. The experiences of the countless people who’ve suffered loss before me is not making a fucking difference.

Sometimes, I just want to end it all.

R

***

September 17, 2012

Dear S,

Not that you give a damn, but I turned 25 today.

Mom visited me in the morning. She even got me a small cake. It felt good to know that she still cares for me as much as she did before you happened. I guess that’s the thing about a mother’s love, it’s unconditional.

But then I saw that look in her eyes. It told me a lot of things, even though she’ll never actually say them. I’m 25 years old. I got fired from my job. I have no savings. And I’m an addict who’s spending his birthday in a rehabilitation center. I am a disappointment.

Thank you, I guess.

R

***

December 3, 2012

Dear S,

Last night, I was on the verge. I really was. I’d even made the preparations – sleeping pills and all. I had a few drinks of whisky while writing a letter to my parents – a letter full of empty words and useless apologies – trying my best to explain to them what I was going through, and why I had decided to take such a drastic step.

Just as I poured myself another drink and opened the bottle of pills, the door opened and you walked in. You looked stunning, as always. You came and sat in front of me, and looked into my eyes. You had this look on your face. No words were needed. When you kissed me, everything was right in the world again.

We talked, and you told me your story, and I believed you. As I always have. For the past six months, I had only felt an intense hatred – towards you, myself, and the world in general. In those moments last night, I could feel that hatred gradually slipping away.

Maybe I’ve decided to be a fool. But a happy fool.

Yours,

R

PS: I’ve thrown away the pills and burnt the letter.

***

February 14, 2013

Dear S,

Of course I had to write you a letter on Valentine’s Day.

The last two months have been brilliant. I’ve been so happy that the period of great sorrow is nothing more than a distant memory now.

Mom’s better. No matter what I tell her, she knows exactly how I’m feeling. She always sees through my words and right into my soul. And now that she sees I’m happy, she’s happy. It’s almost magical, how her health and happiness are inextricably linked to mine. And mine, to you.

Thank you.

Always Yours,

R

***

June 5, 2013

Dear S,

It’s amazing. Exactly a year ago, I was sure of everything – most of all that, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. As I write to you today, I’m not even sure of my own sanity anymore.

My days are dark and fuzzy. The medication makes it harder to stay awake, harder to think clearly. I feel tired all the time.

You are the brightest part of my day, each day. The one hour you spend with me reminds me of my reality. You’re like a ray of hope that gives me the strength to carry on and not give in. You’re my silver lining. Mom visits me every day too, of course.

The doctors tell me that you died. A year ago. They say that the you I’m seeing now is not real – that my brain made you up as a coping mechanism. They say that I need to accept reality if I want to have a normal life.

The doctors don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. I’m not crazy. Am I?

I love you. Always.

Yours,

R

—

Note: A dead letter is one that can neither be delivered nor returned to the sender.