Dear Harry,
I know how I always thought your writings were silly. I guess I didn't understand how important they really were. But now that you've gone, I've made my own journal. I can write down my feelings about you that I never had the heart to say.
You knew I loved you so, or at least I hope you did. Did you not feel the same way? I keep asking myself that whilst sitting in our home without you next to me.
Why aren't you here? Why did you leave me? I know I wasn't always the best girl. You couldn't always handle my free spirit when it collided with yours. And I should have noticed something was wrong when we fought constantly over the silliest things.
But my dear Harry, why didn't you tell me you were going away?
You left, without a single word to me. How unfair to me, don't you think?
When I woke this morning, I expected to hear your voice and feel your arms slowly wrap around my waist and pull me close to your warm chest. Instead, I rolled over to see an outline of your body in the sheets and I smelled the scent of your shampoo on your pillow. I called out your name, but all I heard in return was silence.
I cried out in pain for two reasons.
The stiffening of my fingers against the typewriter was unbearable. And the missing part of me that he took with him was even more so.
The view from the bedroom window was calming; enough to take my mind off of being alone.
The scrawny branches of the elder willow tree outside were blowing free in the frigid winter air. A gathering of youthful girls played jumprope in the narrow street that was dampened by the morning rain. I yearned to be like them; full of life and joy. But those were drained from me when my love disappeared.