The Letter
Sullen
ONE MONTH LATER
My Wife,
You wanted a letter from me, a finished one, for all the words I never returned.
You wanted to see my handwriting in full, even though I know you have watched me scrawl in the margins of the books you enjoy seeing me read.
At least, you say you do, but I will never get over the reality of being loved by you.
It feels surreal.
A dream that I will one day wake up from.
Yet every morning I rise—before you, I might add—you are there, curled into me, breathing soundly over top of me as if you will shield me from the world. As if you will never let anyone touch me again.
I believe this of you. I believe you in the way I know the sun will rise tomorrow and the sky will darken tonight. I trust you, and those three little words alone steal my breath when I remember them.
Just as you do when you smile up at me, your cerulean eyes holding a depth I want to drown in.
Your laughter drags me back to the present anytime I feel myself slipping beneath the horror of the old days.
There are parts of me Stein did not reach, it seems. Parts of me I know my mother died protecting. Those parts are all reserved for you.
You killed for me. Stripped yourself of everything, for me. I will spend the rest of my life building sunshine over your head.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Forever yours,
Sullen Bram Rule