Wednesday, 1 April 2015

The Letter I Wish I'd Written.

Bags and boxes packed with clothes, books and films. Sitting along the hall wall waiting to leave you.
A once filled home, of music and laughter now sitting silent and dark. 
Faded marks on the walls where photos once hung. Voids in the dust on the shelfs where frames of friends and china figures once stood.
An over flowing sink of unwashed plates, mugs, bowls and glasses. A stack of take away boxes with half eaten food, lay piled in an over flowing bin.
Laying on the sofa wrapped in a red and black blanket. Looking at you so peaceful in you dream like state.
It has been so long seeing you this way. peaceful and at ease at the end of the day.
A stack of journeys sit on the table beside you.
Each filled with receipts, and pitchers. Ticket stubs of memories. The words on those fade pages of times with smiling faces, and tear drop stains of our days together.
Telling of adventures, pick nicks, hopes and dreams. Of fights and nights of passion.
All of those un said words, reading like a tragic love story.
Do you remember the time that we got court in the rain when out running one summer Sunday evening. And we danced and kissed in the middle of the street as you picked me up and held my tight. Like the closing scene of a 1940s black and white Hollywood movie.
The night of our anniversary when you took me to the Ivy. You dressed in a suit and bow tie and me in that long green dress and those killer black heels. And after leaving in fits of laughter and tears form winding up the waiter and the posh silver spooned couple, that sat on the table beside us. You gave me a piggy back, while I carried my heels. With strange looks and tourists cameras tacking a look. Our heads swimming in champagne and love. I think that I lost an earring that night down by the themes where we walk that starry night.
Pressed rose petals and cut out hearts from the wedding table dressing of our best friends wedding. Best man and brides maid. It was our new love at second sigh. you in top hat and tails and I pretty in pink.
A midnight pick nick on Primrose hill. Fish and chip, champagne, mushy peas and curry sauce. Laid out on a blanket, with bouquet  of red roses. Us dining by burning candle light. with our promise that it would last forever.
I believe that there is a torn piece of the chip bag with the restaurants logo hidden with those pages.
You smile in your sleep still, so sweetly and still. Yet a sadness surrounds you. Which I can not heel.
As you move a book full’s from under the cushion where your sleeping head lies. Laying open upon the wooden floor covered in a red rug. A faded pink pressed flower held in place op the open page with sticky tape and tracing paper, form a bunch of flowers I hit you with. A shower of flower heads and petals us as you pulled me close in sadness and tears . A single flower to remember what might have been.
With the changing sun beams across the walls and wooden floors. The bags and boxes vanish, form the long standing wait. The empty walls fill with vintage posters, and all new art. 
Don’t feel sad, I don’t blame you. But I wish I told you.
With each changing day the winter has now returned. The painting of the Christmas tree that you had brought that christmas here, now hanging on the wall. A last visible memory of us in this room, in this newly dressed room.
I wish that I had told you every day, twice a day how much I cared.
Know all that is left is sitting beneath the bed. A box of journals and photos. A single earring and a champagne cork,  A home made CD of our songs that created memories. 
All of these things, make up, the unwritten letter that I wish I’d written. And left for you to read.

© sarah jane patel

I wrote this as an entry piece for a competition for in September 2014. Intitled "The Letter I Wish I'd Written."
I have not heard anything form them regarding the piece so here it is for all to see, rather then it sitting saved on my computer.

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