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Posted: May 31 2017, 10:43 PM
Original idea sourced appreciatively and with permissions from @Adam and Mr. John Clearwater's collection of unsent correspondence.
The following was penned from the home office of Castor Black, intentions to send care of Rowan Drake. This missive was neither delivered nor completed, instead consigned to flames and summarily destroyed shortly after its inception.
16 February 2021Mr. Drake,
This letter is sent with regard to your recent lapse in appropriate conduct. On the afternoon on February 15th, you approached me in my office without an appointment and in regard to business unknown. Following my inquiry into the matter youMr. Drake,
On the afternoon of February 15th, you approached me in my office with regard to a matter unspecified. Without the prior arrangement of an appointment, or further elaboration on the nature of your visit, I am left with no information to aid me in seeing to your concerns. Your action ofRowan,
For many years, you and I have worked closely together. I have behaved as confidant and aid to you on many legal and civil matters, and in return you have
you've been a friend to me. I am not certain I ever fully
what you did
the physical contact you engaged in has far exceeded any previously established boundaries of our acquaintanceship, and I can only assume some extreme situation prompted you to act in such a manner. I am
not an overly compassionate person. I do not make rewards of what has not been duly earned, but your presence
as a part of my life
you deserve my understanding, yetRowan,
I do not understand you.
Posted: May 29 2018, 09:38 PM
21 July 2021
I cannot keep from reading your letter. My eyes have traced its patterns so many times I feel I could almost replicate your hand. The words stick in mind. They are your voice and the closest we have been in more than a week now, despite the fact you wrote this days ago. I feel I am chasing you through time, following where you have gone and picking up the pieces as you leave them behind. Your thoughts were here even as my thoughts were of you. Where are they now?
I hate to tell you that you are wrong, my darling, for I have missed you since the moment we parted. Since before you left. Couldn't you feel it in the way I held on so tight? I have never felt so alone as I am here. I would be ashamed to tell you such a thing if these words could reach you, but I am voiceless, more than ever I have been. I wonder what the point of it is, to reply in this manner when my letter can go nowhere, but perhaps you will feel it, that I am writing you. Perhaps you will lift your quill and know. Is it selfish to admit I hope it matters to you? I cannot help that I am afraid. I cannot quell it, as though I have become powerless to my own thoughts. But you have always affected me so. You bloom in my mind from the seeds you plant with every action, and absolutely everything makes me think of you.
I am grateful for the flower, and how it is real and how your eyes saw it and recognized its beauty. For how you thought of me. I never told you I used to press them when I was younger. There was a hill behind my house I would escape to as a boy, and all along its slope violets would bloom in the springtime. I imagine they still do. I learned how to dry them in the windowsill and flatten them between the pages of a book. It was my private occupation. I think I will do the same with the flower you have sent me. I could not stand to see it wither, not when it makes me think of you. Not when all my thoughts must be of you safe.
I would do anything to be close to you, my darling. You write of the wilds, and I can only imagine what it would be to see them with you. I have ventured out to the pond where you brought me once, and you were not wrong. It is beautiful in the daylight, and the dragonflies are so vibrant among the lilies. They are so alive. I feel you must be in love with that feeling. With visions of the world alive. I wonder if you love them more than you could love me. But that is the voice of my fear and I do not know what such questions could accomplish. I only hoped I would feel close to you here, but everything is
You sound whole, in your words. Perhaps I can stand this if it is all for the sake of keeping you whole. I love you. I miss you.
Posted: Jun 17 2018, 04:57 AM
27 July 2021
I do not believe I have ever needed anything half so much as I need you, and it hurts that you are not here. I've been waiting for you for so long, darling, and now you're gone and I am relegated to your aftermath. I cannot fathom another soul alive leaving pickles in a shoe, of all places.
If you knew what a mess I'm becoming.
I wish that I could be where you are, that I could leave this all behind and simply come to find you. I wish that I could do something to make this all move faster. I would burn everything down to be with you. It feels as though I already have, or perhaps it was only myself that I destroyed. My father came. It seems ridiculous to write these words on paper. To see them.
Don't make an incident, darling. Or perhaps do. I know I would not be able to stop myself from making the crossing if you did. I would come and get you out myself, and perhaps then you could forgive me for interrupting things. I would have stopped you in the first place if I thought you could forgive me for such a thing. But I cannot destroy my chance that you will come back to me. You've walked away from me so many times and I never thought you'd come back. Each time I thought it was the last I'd see you walk away, that I'd finally done offense enough to end it all for good, whatever tenuous connection we held, and wasn't that what I deserved for my behavior. I have not been the man I want to be, where you are concerned. Nor anywhere. I have not once been the man I want to be.
I miss you so much.
I love you.
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