Work Text:
in silence i feared my heart
would remain
words unheard
inside a separateness of skin
but now i know that the skin just veils the soul
-Jewel, "Face of Love"
18 May
Dear John,
What you don’t know, what you will likely never know, is that I’ve never been more miserable in my life than I am right now. You’ve gotten married and I was your best man. While it is in fact true that I never expected to be anyone’s best friend, let alone their best man, I also never expected to fall in love with anyone, but the truth is I have loved you for much longer than I realised until today.
Neither the most desperate craving for a fix, nor the worst burn of snorted cocaine, nor the worst sweating, heaving, convulsing withdrawal - and believe me when I say I know all three - are in any way comparable to the visceral, searing pain that grips me as I write.
My parents and Mycroft were not terrible to me. As childhoods go, I suppose one could say mine was privileged. Posh, even. We never went without; there were always leftovers at supper, and Mum and Dad were fine parents. Still, I was always the last one picked for childhood games, never invited to parties as a teen, and certainly never enjoyed the luxury of confidants. No one ever bothered to penetrate the cold external mask I donned as a matter of self-preservation. I told myself I was better off for it.
So if I have acted unaccustomed to having good friends, it is because I am. You came along, and after more than thirty years of solitude, I found the warmth of your presence the highlight of my existence. What I did not expect, as previously mentioned, was that the only good friend I have ever known would also be the only person to open my soul to the possibilities of love. You are already well aware that I used to talk to you when you were not in the flat; what you will never know is that I also ached for you physically. How many times did I long to experiment – no, that is not the word I want, yet I lack the means to describe it otherwise – with the tangy taste of your mouth pressed to mine, every available inch of skin touching, your arms wrapped around me in the cool blue light of morning.
You will know neither length nor profundity of this desire, for I shall keep it stored in my soul’s recesses. To burden you with it at this point would, it seems, be unfair. You will lie down with the woman you love every evening and awaken to her every morning. You will come home to the smell of freshly baked bread and sit down to home-cooked meals most days of the week. You will delight in the pleasures of one another’s bodies and you will make a life together.
I said goodbye to you once on the roof of Bart’s hoping against hope that I would come home to you. For you. I did come home, but you were no longer there and it was no longer home.
Please do not come looking for me, John. Not now, not at Christmas, not ever.
Please, leave me alone.
It is the least you can do for me, and the most I can do for you.
I have been and shall remain forever yours,
SH