She was lightly snoring in her bed, her desk in slight disarray though… there was a few neat stacks. One had a little green tab labeled “Percival G.”.
I’m writing this to immortalize you someway, before my memory gives way to fog and you’ll be just another memory of another time and place.
I never got to tell you how sorry I am, and maybe that’s for the best. Sometimes words create more space than fill it, silence speaks of more woe and hurt than words ever can. I tried to warn you how I hurt people that fall in love with me, maybe my warnings were too light, too carefree to be taken seriously. Saying how much of a lost cause I am comes so easy it’s no surprise that you too did not take heed of just how corrosive I am. Poison is sweetened by sugared words, I failed you so terribly.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you, you’ve been hurt enough and you told me yourself. Lost, tired, lonely, empty; I suffered with you because I know all those feelings more than I can describe. Centuries could pass and I still wouldn’t be done giving voice to deep, deep woe. Of course you would never know, you only got one story of a long epic of tragedies and mistakes.
And for that, for even getting me to open up about that, about… him. You earned more of my affection, which I could never express, you lifted a long heavy brick off my heart, my chest.
There were many times I thought of force sending you to Light, out of anger, out of frustration. Even though I knew you’d crawl out of Hell just to spite me, even when I knew you’d fight tooth and claw if I ever tried. I let it go… Then you started to do exactly what I said not to do, and then I wanted to out of fear. Fear of what? Well, it has already come true, my worst fear, so all that’s left is to suffer the memory and let you go.
I know you volunteered to aid me out of boredom, and I can say here on paper that I appreciated you helping me. All those strong arm jobs, you chasing down targets, the times you defended me and covered my back (“my little busted up hero”). You bitched and griped a lot though I could tell you enjoyed having a purpose, but what I do wasn’t for you. The first night I met you, I could tell right away you were born to entertain, not to make others suffer. You weren’t meant to be like me, you were an unfortunate sort that was meant to walk in light and made the wrong turn down an alley one day and could only suffer darkness ever since.
Your hands were meant to create, which you did and beautifully. Wonderfully, when they weren’t clenched in fear.
They were meant to hold, which you did for me. I’ll always appreciate those many times you held me until I slept, as we talked about your experiences both violent and passionate. Yes, those arms were meant to hold fast to the person you loved, those hands were meant to hold their hearts with a grip so tight they’d never doubt your devotion.
Your mouth was meant to sing, to smile so bright you’d be a constellation in the sky. Your very few genuine smiles, they were breathtaking, for when you smiled your whole being could glow with your joy.
You were meant to hold something close to your chest, you’re a fierce protector and a lover, you’d place your loved ones in your heart because you knew it would keep them safe forever.
You don’t believe me because you don’t remember, but your heart used to be as big as Timothy’s. Just hardened, cased in steel because you weren’t naive to the world, but just as big and powerful. If his love is like the sky, then yours was like the ocean. Currents of love running so deep you couldn’t show just anyone, such a deep and meaningful heart could scare the weak, many of which you were surrounded by. A lovely, lovely deep ocean that could nurture for all time, you have treasures buried deep within you that you could’ve shared, if only someone let you.
I wanted you to try to remember that ocean, I wanted you to have a heart that vibrated like the currents you used to have. Were you scared that you no longer knew how to swim in your own heart? Were you afraid that you may drown in loneliness if it ever came back? I think it did, I think you started to remember, of waves singing with the songs only you could hear and play for the world to know. Of how refreshing it was to share your waters with someone that wanted to witness your beauty as you witnessed theirs. But then I fucked it up, and I think winter may have frozen your desire again. I pray it hasn’t, I pray you still wish to have that flow of creativity come natural to you again.
You’re too easy-going to be mean as a default, comes from having a heart that can take and give as easily as the wind blows. Moody and an absolute horror when angered, yet could be as soft as satin and just as lovely, I could hear how your heart used to be.
I do love you and I know you wished for what I couldn’t give. I wouldn’t curse you, I refused, I wouldn’t poison you with sharing my heart with you, I just wanted you… to at least be content. So you wouldn’t feel empty or lost or sad anymore, just simply relaxed, truly relaxed, and at peace for once. I had put your bones to rest a while ago, after you two left, I found what was left and I don’t know if you felt what a proper burial could do. It’d put your restless soul to some sort of unknowing peace, you wouldn’t be such a high risk candidate for becoming what all those beasts we fought were, from the wraiths to the deadly ghouls… And what Marshall turned into.
If you hate me, I understand. I don’t expect you to come around anymore. This is just one of many letters I’ll never send. I’ve immortalized many that left before I could speak one last time. I’ll always want you to remember love, to know love, to be in love. Not the romantic sense, that’s too easy to fake, but to truly be IN love, completely engulfed in it. To know what it feels like to be reassured that no matter what, you can rest easy and be alright. Be that with your music or with someone you find that means something to you, even if it’s just with Timothy, I will always wish you joy and that you may find love for yourself and know that… that can be enough, too.
Butterbean, you’re a man of many facets and dimensions that I never got a chance to learn but with the few you showed me? You’ve honored me, and this is the only letter I’ll write of you.
