God hath no fury... |
Dear Rebecca,
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know these words sound trite, but they are true, as true as anything I have ever told you.
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know these words sound trite, but they are true, as true as anything I have ever told you.
Time and time again I have tried to write this letter, to ask you to forgive me, and I end up so angry at myself for not finding the right words that I rip up the paper and start again. So I won’t try to find more words than necessary: Please forgive me. If you can, please do it whenever your heart tells you to. I can wait because I’d rather let you heal than force some empty arrangement to salve my conscience.
Whenever you wish to see me, or speak to me, you know where to find me. I love you, please believe that I do. I don’t ever want to lose you, but I know I must wait. I will. And I hope that someday we can be together again, for the rest of our lives.
Love, Andy.
Marcia looked up from the letter, her eyes bright. “Wow. He seems to be feeling pretty strongly about this.”
Rebecca brought her eyes back from the street scene outside the tiny Deluxe Cup café, the passersby clutching coats tightly against the harsh wind, cars fluffing white contrails in the dry frigid air. “He seems to be. Yes.”
Continued in...
Announcing December 2011 Edition of "20 in 5"
To finish "The Final Letter" and 19 other great stories, please buy the inaugural ebook edition of "20 in 5."
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