This was my creative writing story for my major HSC exam, and I felt as though I should post it. Enjoy!
My dearest love,
I am homesick.
Life seems to be taking its toll on me. It feels as though I am literally being dragged along through mud puddles, over sharp rocks and gravel, and through the coldest of snow storms. And I feel it. Like I am caught in this tug of war of time as I am so desperate to hold onto the past, and yet the present keeps pushing me towards the future. But I don’t think I want to move forward.
I am heartbroken.
To think of the one day that would come that my heart would literally shatter, I almost seem to laugh at myself, and I daresay that you would hardly hold back laughter also. Just imagine! Only a year ago, I was a fit man. Very happy and outgoing, barely anything would bring me down. Until only a few months ago.
I am lonely.
The sense of it in this house dawns on me with each passing and chilling day. The crows outside the windows haunt me, cawing at me, daring me to do something about their loudness. The bleak scratches of the barren trees on our bedroom window, teasing me of my loneliness. They look like a wraiths claw, devilishly caressing the window trying to take me from this world. I wish it were so.
I am angry.
Again, I would never have thought myself satisfied with that emotion. Too bitter, too harsh for me. Though now it is all I can seem to think about. It orbits around in my mind, a swirl of images and uncomfortable emotions. And I realize that this is indeed what depression feels like. This house is like my serenading deathbed, reminding me of a better way to live - six feet under, with fresh roses growing from my corpse.
I am detached.
This house. OUR house, it seems strange the fact that it would miss your aura. Though I still live in the same house that we've lived in for more than twenty years, ever since you left, the emptiness seems to overly dawn on me. Every creak of every board seems to echo in my mind. The cold walls shake my bones. I guess I am glad that we have no close neighbors out in the middle of the country. It is so much easier without them attempting to comfort my suffering. Bombarding me with homemade casseroles and 'Thinking Of You' cards, all it seems to do is remind me of my pain, rather than soothing it. Though as much as I prefer to be alone, away from pestering families and neighbors, nothing would give me more happiness than if I was by your side again. I would trade my soul for it.
I am hollow.
Though I'd always thought it cliche to say that "home is where the heart is", but it makes sense now, as you took my heart with you when you died that day. The day that tumor took you from me, was the day I no longer felt as though something held me to the earth any more. Nothing seems substantial enough here anymore for me to feel as though I belong here. My heart has always been yours, which is why I feel homesick, as my heart is with you and I can't seem to reach it.
I am hopeful.
It seems pointless, writing letters to the dead. Though it gives me hope that someday an Angel messenger can deliver this to you, and you know that I am waiting to join you. I do so hope the angels are treating you nicely. Though I am sure you've been made one yourself up there, as I had always thought of you as my angel. My Guardian Angel.
I am frightened.
Though I am contemplating selling this house, since I no longer seem to feel its closeness, I cannot seem to give up my last memory of you. Your scent no longer taints these rooms, though I can still feel your essence through the walls. Sometimes I am terrified of the rooms - seeming to close around me leaving me suffocating. Then I just realize that it is only my subconscious working. What do you think? Should I sell our house? No, you'd never forgive me, if I did.
I am giving.
Instead of selling our house, I'll give you this. Enclosed is the handkerchief you gave me for my thirtieth birthday, the one with the rose. I know how you loved roses, which is why I give it to you now, so you can remember me in someway. I wonder if God was what you expected. Is he what at the bible has made him out to be? I doubt you'd go anywhere else other than heaven. My love, I must tell you on this last note, that i will be joining you soon, so it won't be too long a wait yet. Tell Saint John to keep the gates open for me, for my staircase to heaven is almost in plain sight.
All my love,