Work Text:
Maeve,
It's been two years. 24 months. 104.357 weeks. 730.5 days. 17532 hours. 1,051,920 minutes. 63,120,000 seconds.
Is time not supposed to heal these wounds?
I know if you were here you'd be shaking your head at me. Thinking I was silly for writing to you.
You're dead, after all. To be honest I don't know why I continue this tradition. It doesn't bring me peace or relief, or really anything other than a deep desire to talk with you again. To hear your voice.
Again I think if you were really here, you would quote someone befitting. Helen Keller perhaps. "What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us." You'd tell me to move forward. To see that this was just not meant to be. I'd tell you that you are quite close to stepping into the incomprehensible topic of predestination.
Perhaps, instead, you'd go for the more obscure quote, as you often would. Rumi possibly; "Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom."
I think I've had enough wisdom and grief for now.
But here I am starting to feel sorry for myself again when you were the one who died.
You died.
I still find myself having to be reminded of that fact. When I reach for the telephone, or go the step further and end up dialing your number. When I file away, in my mind, a line from a book I think you'd enjoy. When I am in that in-between stage of dreams and the real world, just on the cusp of consciousness; thinking for a split second that you would still be able to pick up the phone and talk to me in your beautiful soothing voice, with your brilliant mind coming up with witty banter and clever words. And your quotes. God your quotes.
I remember trying to find the right one to tell you I loved you. To tell you I wanted to be with you forever and never leave. I think the closest I came was a beautiful verse from an unknown author:
Sometimes,
what you're looking for
comes when you're not
looking at all.
I thought for a long time that no one would love me. That I was just going to be the human-computer for the rest of my life. But then... you. You showed me that I'm not the same without you.
I thought love was going to be hard to find. I thought it would be like a needle in a stack of needles, but you made it a stack of hay and gave me a metal detector.
I suppose I'm making less sense now than I was before. And yes, Maeve, I know I should stop writing to you. But I can't. I just can't.
Forever yours,
-Spencer