Delivered by a white, wolf-like hound who waits to be dismissed, or given a message to take back with him.
I don't quite know what to write to you. I feel as though I have to; as though ink and parchment can somehow bring me a little closer to you. I don't expect a reply.
It seems as though everything isn't as it should be. I can't put my finger on it. Every morning I wake up thinking that today is the last day, like death breathes everywhere, for everyone. It's that feeling that makes all of this so much worse.
I don't know who has told you what - I don't know if you think I left, or if I'm dead. For all I know, you could have simply not noticed I'm not there at all. But I didn't leave, not of my own will. I hope that whatever you've been told, you know I'd not leave you.
It's this sense of an impending end that compels me to write to you now, because I don't want any end to come without having said a word.
All my life, I've felt apart from people. My father used to say that I wasn't human, that I was born with some demonic purpose instead. I've never believed it, myself, but what I have believed is that some part of me is intrinsically different, and difficult for others to understand, or even access. I've never felt the same thing in anyone else, and it's always made me struggle to genuinely feel for people. It's difficult to feel as though someone could possibly understand you, when they're nothing like you.
I can't explain why, but I feel as though there's something in us that undulates in the same places, darkens us to the same pitch. I've never felt the need to explain myself to you. Even in the moment when you told me the Truth, I didn't have to explain a thing. The truth is, in this very short stretch of time, I feel as though I've come to be closer to you than I have any other person in my life.
I feel this separation very keenly. I find myself listless and others tedious. I want no one near me who isn't you. The tolls of your brand of salvation are coming, and as much as they sometimes make me feel (and look) dreadful, I can't hate them, because really, they're the last things that tie me to you.
I hope that I'm wrong, that there isn't an end coming at all, that I'm just losing my sanity a little in this place. I hope that the last time I saw you wasn't genuinely the last. I didn't know the depth of my feeling until you weren't there anymore; I'm glad of it for that, at the very least.
My point, at the end of all of this rambling, is that I think I've fallen inescapably in love with you, and I couldn't rest properly knowing that I hadn't said a word, that even if you laugh and throw this in the fire, you'd at least know. I'd rather be thoroughly humiliated than silent.
Please don't let this be the end.
- M
Subject: A Letter to Beltayne 
Mon Feb 20, 2012 1:11 pm
