Chapter 6: Grief

Lucy

 

My dearest Rudi,

        

      I just woke up into a world where a songbird sits on a tree and sings all day for the beloved it’s missing. I just woke up into a world where the waves that once gently washed ashore, now raged with a ferocity that could drag and drown a person if they so choose. I woke up into a world where the moon hung lazily in the sky and let its beams dance about to create poetry through the night, that some of us, the lovers of the night, can hear and heed and follow in our insanity. I woke up into a world where I wished that we could answer that call of the moon like we used to, until I remembered, with a pain that arose from a place much deeper than just my heart, that in 3 days from now, you’ll be out of my reach forever.

No more will we compose poetry under the stars; no more will we lie through the night with our bare bodies touching and our thoughts for company; no more will it be just you and me owning the world within our words.

What happened to us, Rudi? When, and where did I fail you so spectacularly that you ran back into her arms with a ring in your pocket?

Did you know she described the proposal to me in vivid detail? It was beautiful, Rudi. It reminded me of Laurie proposing to Amy in Little Women. Did you know that was her favourite book? Did you love her so much that you actually read the book for her or have you become one of those who goes online and searches for romantic ways to propose? I wish I knew.

I wish I knew that you were happy. Are you happy, Rudi? I see a flickering of doubt in your eyes at times when I’m watching you and her obsessively over the rim of my glass. Am I imagining it? I don’t think so… You see, Rudi, over the years, you’ve grown closer to my heart than Cassandra and her Castle. I understand every quirk of your eyebrow and every glance from your eye, the way Keats understood the throes of a nature that’s mysterious to many. You’ve always been to me what death was to Sylvia Plath- inspiration, muse and distraction. You drive me to distraction, Rudoofus and there is nothing I can do about it! But, the most painful part is knowing who inspires you.

It’s me. Me at my most insufferable. Have you ever woken up in her presence to write for 6 straight hours, filling 20 pages with 10,000 of your beautiful words of poetry? I love Dee, but, Rudi, she is not your muse; I am. And you know it! Yet, in 3 days, you’re getting married and walking away from me; from us; from all of this.

Is that why you look guilty every time you sneak a look at me, Rudi?

But, my stupid Rudoofus, haven’t you noticed the same glimmer of guilt even when you’re looking at your bride-to-be? You gave her your mother’s ring; you gave up your wilder ideas of trekking in the Himalayas; you even settled for getting married at this beach house in the most conventional of manners; and yet, you don’t feel you’ve done enough for her? What are you trying to make up to her?

Fine. Forget all of that tosh of angst and answer me this: do you love her, Rudi? Do you love her more than you love life? Do you love her with the same undying intensity as Stephen loves Isabella in your favourite Birdsong? Is she your Isabella, Rudi?

Think hard, my dearest. Because, I’m used to a broken heart. Dee is not. I’ve forgiven you for breaking my heart. I won’t forgive you for breaking Dee’s. Because Dee is the most special person on earth and you are not all that special of a boy. So, think hard and unless, you’re absolutely sure, do not wait at that altar for her. We’ve weathered many laughs and tears and many storms together. I doubt if a broken marriage can make a bigger dent than the ones already there.

The birds have stopped singing. The waves are calming down. The night sky is giving way to daylight. I wish you were here to witness it with me. I wish she was here to witness it with me. I wish I could turn to both of you and give my sincerest congratulations. But, the storm from the sea seems to have moved into me and the weight of its grief is threatening to drown me to the depths of Dante’s Inferno. I love you, Rudi. I love you. I love you. I love you.

If she loves you an iota of how much I love you; or if you love her even an iota of how much I love you, walk towards each other tomorrow and happily, unrepentantly, leave me behind in your journey together to a life of bliss. But, if you don’t….

Rudi, my love, my dearest, are you happy?

 

Lots of love and a broken heart,

 

Yours forever,

Lucy  

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