Curious Correspondences

Letter 1

To the Brunette with Lilies in her Hair:

It is my hope this gets to you. Perhaps it never will. Perhaps it might. Or maybe this is all but a dream.

Oh well.

I don't know where I am-well, I mean, I do. God I wish I had a pencil instead of a pen.

It's been a week in the hospital. I don't know anything about who I was before, and even the events of my awakening are blurry. They say I suffered memory loss in a crash. A crash that killed my family.

It doesn't hurt though. Not even a numbness when I heard news that no one was waiting for me. Not like the numbness I have right now.

Every day seems the same. I wake up and for a moment, everything is at peace. Then it all comes crashing back. The pressing weight of anticipation, of not knowing something. And it's not my old life I'm talking about. It's not knowing

I don't even know. I don't know what I don't know. Perhaps it's better that way.

Although, something has been bugging me. It's you. When I woke up, they said I called out for "The brunette with lilies in her hair". Isn't that strange? I don't remember anything except you, a girl who doesn't seem to exist. A girl who, despite having no recollection of, I know.

Maybe I met you in a dream. A girl born from my own mind and fantasies. Maybe I did know you once. Maybe you're out there, waiting for me to return.

Then why haven't you come to see me? Maybe you didn't know. Maybe we were our secret.

I think I'd like it if you were real.

Despite not being here, you're there for me. Just the thought of you gives me enough to say, "One more day."

Maybe that day will never come. That would be sad.

I like to think I know things about you, little things. The lilies in your hair are always real, and always fresh, and the color is always changing(orange looks best on you). You're favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry. You pretend not to like dresses, but you wear them because they make you feel like a princess. You like to swim, but only when the water is too cold for me.

I fear that these are nothing but fantasies and illusions I made for myself. I fear this is nothing but the ramblings of someone who doesn't have something to hold onto.

And maybe it is. Maybe I saw you in passing and just thought you to be cute. Maybe you're not real.

But I'm here now because I hope you are real. I hope that one day, I can take you out for strawberry ice cream and you'll show me a new lily you found growing in your garden(you keep one on your windowsill).

So that's why I'm writing this. Hope. A small, fragile thing that grew in the heart of someone with nothing there. Hope that spilled onto the page of a notepad in the form of ink and tears. Hope that came from me.

I should probably go back soon. Right now, I'm sitting on a rooftop in a hospital gown, looking at the stars. And hoping. By some odds means of fate or coincidence.

That I can see the Brunette with Lilies in her Hair again.

Sincerely,

The Girl with Hope in her Heart