temporary fix || george harrison

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DID I really want to open this box? There couldn't possibly be anything inside that was going to abate my grief- in fact, it might exacerbate it.

Was it all a dream? Was our relationship, our deal, our memories all a lie? Did I fabricate it all to cope with my transmutation?

God this is torture.

I opened the lid to the dreaded box without any more hesitation- it was time to rip off the bandaid.

I sucked in a harsh breath through my teeth and my eyes found an envelope, and instantaneously I grabbed the letter and set the box beside my book on the table, and steeled my heart for whatever words were about to flow from the aged letter. Were they written by a dying old man, wishing he'd done differently, or were they scribbled by a scorned young man with a hate that fueled his correspondence into the future?

I hadn't enough time to debate my options as I'd ripped the parchment open without another thought, my watering eyes devouring the achingly familiar script on the page.

Juliet,

I wasn't sure how to start this letter. It has been many years since I'd considered compiling this time capsule if you will. To be quite frank, I loaded this parcel up the moment we arrived home- I needed your things out of sight. I'm sure you can imagine why.

I'm a dying old man now, writing this. I called in a few favors with some old chaps and asked Sir Hawking for advice on time travel, as I understand you are but a little tot. Paul and I thought that we could send your family the parcel as a special gift, but we soon realized it wasn't feasible. Upon Sir Hawking'd advice, I was advised to allow things go as they were you see, to avoid potential rips in time.

You're 3 now, and your family just went on holiday to Mallorca. Those blasted society papers truly didn't know how to seal their gams even if their lives depended on it.

Any road, I'm certain you know what has befallen me- and that by the time you receive this letter, I'm already light years past my expiration date. Tragic, but rather fun, yeah? I'm the ghost in the machine. It's been nearly forty years since I've last seen your face, and forty since I've thought of it.

I was so bereft and tossed up in my own rage and grief that the only way for me to move onwards was to forget. Which I couldn't accomplish even if I tried harder than I did. Drink, drugs, hell, even heroin couldn't push you from my weary mind.

Now that I lay here with however many handful of months or weeks left, I've allowed myself to remember the fleeting time I spent with you,

Juliet. I can remember the feeling of being a young man enthused with the strength and vitality that only could be endowed upon me by the forces of love.

The page ended, and I quickly flipped the page over so fast that I was shocked I didn't rip it in half. His words were searing, if not absolutely excruciating to read.

I loved you more than a young bloke like me could ever possibly hope to love a bird like you. It was all too much at once, but not enough. Loving you felt like my world had gone from monochrome, to technicolor overnight. From the moment I found you crumpled under that dark stoop, I knew it was fate that I'd fall for you.

I was enraged when I'd heard you'd befriended John - I was consumed by the fire when our foe was the one to reveal the truth to me. I soon learned it was all a trick to beguile me- John spent the next 2 years reassuring me so. He was a good lad, although every time there was a mention of you, there was a sad little glimmer in those almond eyes of his.

It's taken me 40 years to come to forgive you, Juliet- although no forgiveness is warranted. You were never at fault, you were never unfaithful, you were never meant to be more than what we were. I believe you were placed into my life for a reason. And I yours.

I'll never forget the time we shared together for as long as I have left. Know that I love you as much now, as I loved you as a 19 year old tosser with no right to understand love at all. And from our love, I hope that you live your life as it was meant to be lived. You are free now, just as I'd hoped you'd be.

You'll find a key within this aged parcel, that I'm sure is ruddy and decrepit by the time it reaches you. The key leads to a lockbox that belongs to my estate. Within the lockbox, has all that you need to lead a life of comfort, but not enough that you laze around on your arse until you sprout whiskers.

It's enough for you to leave London once and for all, and find your passions elsewhere. Take this chance on yourself,

Live wisely, and love without abandon. Be who I've dreamed of, and know that I forever will regret not pulling you back from the brink.

Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.

George.