Every night, I lie awake, aching for your touch. To feel your love, to hear your voice fall upon my ears, for you to look me in my eyes and promise me that it will be alright. I wish only to know that you are happy. I miss you deeply. I have wept for you, praying that you return to my arms, so we may dance together again.
I look out upon the lands that we have kept for so long, to the flowers that you love so much, as vibrant as if King Midas touched them himself.
I see the old barn cats lope through the tall grass, chasing mice. I see the squirrels scurry across the trees, the birds flying and twisting through the scarlet skies, as the sun sets upon the forest that guards us. Our home. Our sanctuary. But I don’t see you.
I wish you were here, my dear Clara. Every night I crawl into bed, yet it’s so cold without you by my side. I stare out the skylight, into the empty expanse of space, yet I can only cry, for it reminds me of you so. This house is empty, and it longs to be filled. To be filled once again, with music, with life, with everything that you ever were.
I hate myself for never noticing the signs. I hate myself for never talking to you. I’m angry at myself for not getting you the help you needed, for I was too blind to see the problem myself.
I’m sorry that I still haven’t taken the rope down. It still haunts me; painful memories flooding my mind, its loop an endless spiral of torment and a constant reminder of my mistakes.
I’m afraid, Clara. I’m afraid of dying. I want to be with you again, but I can’t leave. I’m not ready.
Clara, I am so eternally sorry. This is all my fault. If I ever hurt you, it was never my intention. I’m so sorry.
I hope you have found your place amongst the stars. I hope you are happy.
I will be seeing you soon.
My Dear.
My Love.