Look, there are some things that I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time now. And I know that with everything that's coming it mightn’t be the best time. But I can’t bear the thought of losing you before I get them out
Do you remember when we first met? It was January and the stars were in abundant clearness. We were out on the rocks with the waves crashing around us and I couldn’t stop thinking this, this is what it means to be alive. And maybe it’s just me reading too much into it, maybe it’s the fact that I try to see the beauty in things to keep myself from getting hurt but I refuse to believe that nature is anything less than a painting, some ethereal thing that was sent to us to remind us of our own mortality. And maybe that’s what made me love you so much or made me fall so quickly but I think I saw the stars in your eyes that night not just in the sky.
So what does it matter if our love isn’t perfect? Why does anything have to be? Have you ever noticed that the flowers that grow in the oddest places are often the prettiest? I was walking last night, thinking, and I saw these bluebells peaking through cloaks of grass against a field full of wishblowers that would be given to the wind. And I kept looking at things and wondering how I could put them in enough words to carry the weight of what I was feeling. And maybe I never will. Maybe I’ll never find those words. Maybe this will never be enough.
No, no actually this will be enough because it has to be enough because if my trying isn’t, then what kind of justice is there in love?
So maybe I love you too much or not enough but isn’t that better than no love at all? Isn’t our imperfect capability to see the best in each other better than always seeing the worst?
I just keep thinking about the before times. Before Sarah, before school, before you went away. The times when sunsets painted the sky and nature was all around us and we’d just sit and talk. And how the creak in your gate was music and how the way you climbed it looked like a dance. How your smile would slow down time and how I’d hear my laugh as if it were coming from someone else. These things are not coincidences but fibers of our being. And now we’re here and I don’t know what happened and I don’t know how to figure out if it was your fault or mine. Maybe it was neither, maybe it was just the way things went. But I’m looking at you now and seeing how I know you and don’t all at once. How there’s a scar by your bottom lip that you always had and one by your eyebrow that you didn’t. How you don’t move your hands when you talk anymore but how your fingers dance so minutely that it’s almost as if they remember the movements. And I just don’t know how to explain that it feels like time has pushed us back together.
So; so what if I see paintings in sunsets and pictures in clouds? I’d rather be an optimist than someone who couldn’t dream. When my mother was dying she said that she saw God's hand in the way the flowers wilted on her bedside table. There’s something weirdly beautiful about that, isn’t there? Maybe I got my way of thinking from her. But that way is as much a part of me as your heart is a part of you and it's just something that you will have to learn to love. Because I remember that you were like this once, before. But instead if holding on to it, you let the world take it away. And that’s ok. I just hope that someday you find the courage to get it back.
So maybe you don’t love me. Maybe you can’t. Maybe you won’t see how the good outweighs the bad. But I do. And for as long as the moon comes out in the last stretch of daylight, as long as the stars show their faces at night, as long as I have hope - I will be here for you. And I can never apologize for that because it’s just the way it is.
I love you. That’s what I’m leaving you with.
so I had to write a monologue for a thing I have coming up which is very important to me...I'd so love if you could drop a comment with feedback! Thanks x