Dear God(I want to forget)

Letter 2

Like Weather

Do I blame myself? A part of me does.

When I go through the memories we had together, I can't help but remember that day in Cape Town. We were in the pool, basking in the scorching sun, the chill of the water keeping us cool. As the hours passed, the sky began to change, clouds creeping in, the air turning sharp and cold. I started to shiver, but I didn't care. I loved watching you in the water, seeing the way your face lit up as you floated effortlessly, as if gravity itself had no hold on you.

You always said swimming made you feel like you were defying nature, floating on something that could so easily drown you if you didn't master the skill of staying afloat. You said it made you feel cleansed, as though the water could wash away everything weighing you down.

Then, thunder cracked the sky. I flinched, tense, not from the sound, but from the thought it planted in my mind. You noticed the shift in my mood, but you didn't press me. We left the water, dried off, and dressed warmly before sitting by the fireplace you prepared.

"What happened?" you asked, your eyes full of worry. I knew you were afraid you'd done something wrong.

"Nothing," I said, smiling faintly. "It's just…the sudden change in weather made me think about how life is like the weather. It changes so quickly. This afternoon it was blazing hot. Now it's cold and raining. Life is just as unpredictable."

"True," you said, nodding. "But why did you tense?"

I hesitated. "I thought about how we might not be together in ten years."

Your gaze hardened, like the idea wasn't even worth entertaining. "We will be."

"What if?"

"Why worry about what ifs," you said firmly, "when it will not be?"

"Okay," I said, smiling a little. "But what if, in another universe, another world, we don't end up together? What then?"

For a moment, you didn't speak. I saw the thought creep into your mind, and I hated myself for putting it there. Then you smiled, so gently it almost broke me.

"We will spend every day living out moments like it's our last. And by the time we're not together, which won't happen, all we'll have are memories of how lucky we were to have loved each other. No regrets."

But now, sitting here alone, I can't help but wonder: did saying it out loud set everything into motion? Was it my fault? Maybe I should have kept the thought to myself. Maybe if I had laughed it off, told you I was just cold and scared of the lightning, I wouldn't be sitting here writing letters to you. I wouldn't be hoping, irrationally, that you might read them someday.

A part of me blames myself.

It's funny. As I was clearing out your office, I found a torn piece of paper with a verse written on it: "Romans 8:1: Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

It moved something in me-deep down, I know it did. I wanted to believe it was reason enough for me to stop condemning myself. But I deserved it. The guilt, the regret-it's mine to carry, and I don't know if I'll ever let it go.

I condemn myself, and I think I always will.

And yet, I want you to know this: you aren't here by my side, gazing at me with that tender look you always had. We aren't together anymore.

I told you so.

I closed the journal I was writing the letter in and looked around the now-empty office space. Everything seemed so dull, all the life gone with the owner. As I walked towards the empty mahogany desk,it made me think about how empty and suffocating this room had become. The only thing that remained was his scent, it stubbornly didn't want to leave, and I didn't see the need for it to still linger when the owner wasn't here anymore. As I traced my fingers over the edges of the desk his scent filled the room like he had been here a minute ago, a second ago. As the memories we created in this room were replaying in my head, all so painfully beautiful, the scent of his cologne became even more strong hitting my nostrils and engulfing me in a vivid memory.

"Hey! Don't touch that, let me feed you. If you touch this it will make your hands so oily and you will ruin your office documents," I said as I took the pie I had painstakingly made, it looked appealing but I needed to know it tasted great.

"She has a kink for feeding her husband," he teased as he winked at me through his glasses. He smiled and turned to face me as I stood by his side. He grabbed my waist, pulling me to sit onto his lap. My heartbeat quickened-drumming against my rib cage as I thought it would explode, I could never get used to seeing him looking so ravishing in his glasses and his touch always left me weak in the knees.

"Don't melt with the pie please, I still need to taste what my wife has made."

" You are so corny," I said, attempting to hide the blush that had now become a resident on my face.

"You love me being corny, it's why we are married."

"That's not true. I married you because of that ridiculously big kitchen you have," I replied, feeding him the pie I had taken my time to make. It was for the charity event the company I worked for was hosting. I had volunteered to make pies for the kids and I needed these pies to taste like heaven.

"How is it?" I asked,watching him closely. He just looked at me like he didn't know what to say. Did I get something wrong? Did I maybe put too much garlic or maybe I added too much salt? "Were you a chef in your last life because I can't believe you made this?" he asked, his gaze locking onto mine, almost as if he was drawn in by something. 

"Is it bad?"

" Pumpkin, this is amazing, more than amazing. Feed me more," he said, squeezing my waist gently as if to nudge me into action. 

"Really?" 

"Yes, now feed me more."

"Yay!" I said jumping from his lap as I carried my plate with the pie to go and finish making the pies in the kitchen but as I was about to exit the room I felt him grab my shoulders, halting my steps. He stood in front of me, removed his glasses and held my hand with the pie and before I could protest, he fed himself the rest of the pie while staring at me dead in the eyes. When he finished the pie he licked my fingers, I quickly yanked my hand from him and looked at him with utter disbelief.

"You are a disgusting human being," I said,wiping my fingers on his shirt.

"You know you liked that," he said, blowing me a kiss. "Only an animal would like that," I said with my eyebrows creased as I gave him a disapproving look.

"Exactly my point."

How dare he! "You just called me an animal!" I exclaimed, chasing him around as I attempted to hit him with the plate in my hand, he seemed to be enjoying it but I genuinely wanted to strike him with this plate.

 "You are the animal here, licking people's hands!"

"I didn't deny, we are both animals," he said, catching my wrist as I attempted to strike him.

"I am not an animal," I said, pouting.

"Science would beg to differ but you are right, you are my precious pumpkin bug," he said, tilting my chin to make me look him in the eye. Our breaths hit each other's faces as we tried to catch it from the little running we did ,or maybe I was the one trying to catch mine more. 

"Wait a pumpkin bug is an-"

I swallowed my words as our lips met, he placed his hand at the back of my neck pulling me deeper into the kiss, my knees felt so weak and I was at the verge of dropping the plate I had . I couldn't get enough of him and every time we kissed it felt like the first time.

The memory was shattered as the creak of the door opening filled the room. The warmth and softness of his lips slowly disappeared with the memory I wanted to drown myself in, the coldness of the room jolting me back to reality. My eyes finally adjusted to meeting the eyes of the person that had shattered the memory I engulfed myself in, I regretted it.