A Letter to Scarlet
Dear Scarlet,
it has been almost three months since your last letter. I apologize for not being able to write sooner, but the last few weeks have been very strange. First, as always, I must say that your last letter made me very happy. Despite everything that has happened, I was very encouraged by your kind words, and I must say your handwriting has its magic.
So much has changed since you last visited, Scarlet. The city of Province became haunted, and the ghost is me. It's not visible; it's a feeling about this city and the energy it radiates. Places you and I used to go to, to me, once so full of life, are now just dried ponds with rocky bottoms and dead flora. I remember you there. Your dark hair, waving in the wind. The touch of your fingers when you ran them on my arm. The chill that went down my spine upon feeling your breath on my neck when I held you. All of this, now buried and remaining, is the shadow of my past self and my once clumsy and arrogant behavior. You remember the local park, the pride of Province, a place so often visited by artists, thinkers, and, of course, me, who wanted to become one. One night a week ago, my best friend James and I were sitting on a park bench having an open and vivid discussion about life, philosophy, losses and gains, and what a person must do on their long journey to happiness. Out of the dark, a silhouette of a man appeared. He was around fifty years old and seemed very familiar to me. There aren't many people who frequent the local park that we don't know; however, we had to admit that this one was new here. The stranger, who introduced himself as Peter, sat down next to us with a loud sigh of relief. He asked if he could join us for a drink. We were already drinking wine, so we passed the bottle to the troubled man. We drank in silence for a while. Encouraged by the wine, Peter opened up. About how he left home after his divorce. That his children don’t want to see him, his daughter won’t let him visit his grandchild. When the wine was finished, Peter offered us a big bottle of whisky he had taken out of his backpack. I mostly kept quiet and just listened. I thought about how the most exciting experiences become memories and one day fade. And it’s just how it is. We’re born, we cope with the world, and one day leave it. I realized that I don’t want the beautiful memories I have of you, Scarlet, to be rewritten or forgotten. And even though it’s crushing me, I can’t lose the nighttime conversations with your imaginary self before I doze off. Even though that rarely happens these days. It's hard to lose someone and then try to forget them just because the emotional pain is a burden, like pushing a boulder up a hill like Sisyphus. I want to keep my flaws and remember them in case I do something wrong and stupid again. As it happens, as Peter came, he went, and James and I were alone again.
These evenings with him, where we can say anything without wearing a mask, have an impact on me. They leave me in a world where I believe I can better myself. That it isn’t lost. I do spend a lot of time alone in this park, doing the same thing we were doing here with Peter. It’s nice to have company while drinking. However, we said goodbye, and I walked home. Sometimes in life, we walk alone, and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. And I believe that in those moments, we find at least a bit of courage to be truthful in front of ourselves. I don’t want to let this world pass me by. I decided that I won’t sit home and be self-destructive.
I will embark on a journey to places outside Province. To places that you and I talked about so many times and never went to. I started getting everything ready for my departure. I gave James a spare set of keys to my apartment so he could take care of it. The idea that all I had to do was get up and leave gave me peace. My friends and I spent time together so that I could remember their smiles and hope in their eyes.
Dear Scarlet, this is my last letter for now. Though I hope to see you again when I return, I will write letters informing you of my travels. And please know that my feelings for you will remain the same.
Love, Martin
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written in late spring of 2014
Regards,
Jakub