LETTER TO AUDREY - 4

        "True love stories should never have a happy ending.

Because true love stories never end."

Richard Bach

12.07.2024

Dear Audrey,

Please excuse me if I may sound dramatic, and unreliable.

It has been almost four months since we last spoke—four interminable months, reminiscent of the time we spent apart last year before our reunion in November. Many mornings, I wake up with thoughts of you, thoughts that are tormenting and difficult to describe. I often wonder about you: whether you are happy, how you are doing.

Many times, I wanted to write to you directly, but I always thought it would interfere disproportionately, unreasonably, disrupting your new equilibrium, our plans, our career progresses, our personal developments.

Nontheless, I miss you, Audrey. I miss you terribly, more than I ever expected.

I have wanted to tell you this for months. I know it has been a long time, and to you, this might sound like a faint, fading echo of the past. I let time pass, summer approach, in the hope that you might find new bearings, get used to your new life. But I always nurtured the hope that you would write to me again, that you would seek me out.

I do not know who you are seeing, whether he is the sommelier of L'Enclume or somebody else, but what matters to me is that you are happy. Truly happy. For real. Because I cannot let you go like this, because I do care about you.  

I have tried to force myself to limit, inhibit, and block myself from writing to you. Yet, here I am. Why? Because I struggle to accept the idea of never seeing you again for the rest of my life.

I remember that morning of October 30th when you called me in tears, saying you were leaving Amsterdam for good and wanted to see me one last time. When we saw each other again, when we tried to plan time together in the Lake District, those moments are etched in my mind.

I would love to talk to you, to catch up, to listen to you, to see you, to confront, discuss, resolve, amend, apologize, pacify, and cuddle. My words may seem disproportionate, inappropriate, perhaps empty, insubstantial, inconsistent, belated, weak, and circumstantial.

Yet, despite the passage of time, I am here again, at your bedside, with a thousand questions, doubts, and emotional earthquakes. You may not believe me, but I have been struggling not to write to you—really, really struggling, Audrey. But something has changed. This time, I failed to hold myself back and decided to pursue. I will not go into further details, hoping for your feedback. I am not begging, but I cannot hold myself back any longer. I miss you too much, Audrey.

I pen these words under the influence. I started months ago and have been pondering these words, more for self-therapy rather than for putting them down, coordinated, on an actual letter.  I am gripped by despair, overwhelmed by the void your absence has left in my life. The emptiness contrasts starkly with the vivid, ever-present memories of our time together that flood my mind.

I dreamed of rewinding time, of looking into your eyes once more, of reliving the depth of our love, the words we shared, the emotions we felt, and the beliefs we held dear.

I apologise for sending you these words. I hope they do not unsettle you, though the mere thought of writing them has stirred me profoundly in recent weeks. I wish you happiness, and I hope you will respond—whatever you tell me, whatever you feel, whatever you believe. Whatever you want. You are so dear to me.

Forgive me for my lack of restraint. But I miss you deeply.

I wish you all the joy this world can offer. 

With all my heart.