Dear Lily,
I remember coming home from work one day, expecting to see you smiling and dancing to music while you made dinner for the both of us. My job was long and tiring and I didn't get off until 7. I worked 10 hours a day.
Instead, I found you muttering to yourself, huddled underneath the duvet covers. You were staring emotionlessly at the wall with tears falling down your face.
Your beautiful, flawless face.
Nothing could have hurt me more.
Now, though, I would like to say that I know a thing or two about pain, and that instead of questioning you about why you were sad and what – who- made you cry, I comforted you. But I did just that. I questioned.
I wish I had asked why you were scared – terrified even- but of course, me being the brainless idiot I am, I didn't think of it until it was too late.
Looking back, it was rather obvious that you were scared of yourself, of what you were becoming in your eyes. You were terrified of what you were doing to yourself.
I wish I could go back and change everything. Maybe things could be different. Maybe you would be here with me.
As always, wishing just isn't enough.
Love forever,
Andrew.
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YOU ARE READING
Letters To Lily
Short Story"Why did you leave me," I had cried. "Don't you dare leave me lonely, Lily. Don't you dare." But you had already left. --- The story of a man, written in letters, falling into the abyss of grief. Inspired by Hotel Ceiling by Rixton
