Work Text:
Alex,
On days like these it's easy to believe that surviving is something so serene. I saw you curled up against my chest, your head tucked in the crook of my neck like it belongs there, your breaths coming in like tides echoing in the emptiness of the room, and it knocked out every breath I had and the only thing I could think of was how much I adore you. I stared at your sunlight blanched physique and saw all the nice things in the world personified. Adore is an understatement. Alex, my love, you don't make it easy but paradoxically you do.
I wonder how thirteen year old me would've felt if he knew the things life had in store for him. I remember curling up to an empty bed, the cold wide halls echoing with loneliness, my chest burning with numbness. Struggling for self acceptance, struggling to find comfort. When dad passed away, I realised how tragic it is to love someone who could be touched by the hands of death. Mum had shut herself in, Bea had sold her soul to the drugs, and the loss of feeling of home had settled in my chest. Safety, warmth, contentment all quickly became abstract,possibly forever intangible. I was convinced happiness was something out of my reach. I felt guilty yearning for freedom, I recognized my privileges yet I wanted to break free. I was angry, at the world, at myself, at everyone. "Why me?" ; the question gnawed my mind. Quoting the maestro, our beloved Bard's Sonnet 29 (simply because I love being pretentious and you love me)
"When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate …"
I wonder if it'd take me a lifetime to heal but all I know is, healing doesn't come in an instant, it takes kindness. Not from the world but from yourself. I wanted to write a happier letter but one can only appreciate life if they'd know the worst aspects of it. Alex, I want to write, I want to scream, I want to let the world know it gets better. There's probably someone out there just like me, thinking they'll be trapped in the same hellscape for years but I so desperately want them to know that it's going to turn out good. It's going to be okay.I wonder how much one needs to suffer to realise we already are the person who we've been striving to become. All it takes is a step ahead and there's always hope even if one can't feel it, right?
Anyways, I honestly cannot fathom why you indulge in me ranting but dear God I love you till the ends of earth.You've taught me where my armour ends and where my skin begin. There's so much gratitude in love, and to you I'm the most grateful.
P.S: It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this — but oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art but you have broken down my defenses and I don’t really resent it.
Vita Sackville West to Virginia Woolf
Thursday, January 21, 1926
Forever Yours,
Love,
Henry.