December, 10th

Samuel,

I’m writing to you because your brother asked me to. I’m writing to you because I don’t have the heart to come and tell it to your face. In front of your beautiful untouched face, under the gaze of your hard and soft eyes, I wouldn’t have the courage.

Your brother kept vigil as much as I did. Your sister looked in as a shadow, your parents stayed at your bedside, worried, concerned, full of questions. Your brother stayed by you every day as I did at night. His affection was wrapping you up better than my guilt, better than all my love.

Guillaume said he wouldn’t play the envoy, that at a minimum I owed you the truth, that you don’t remember anything and I owe you some hours, some days of remembrance. Definitely some nights. I stayed by you in the cold shadows, in deaf turmoil in the hospital where we never sleep.

You don’t know how you ended up there; you know nothing of the events that led you to be 
a broken puppet, more away than in the heaviest sleep, uncertain to life.

It’s finished. I will break all your hopes, and you will want to burn the memories of me, of us.
There is no story after our story, after our live together. It was ruined that night in September. 
I need to tell you and I hesitate again.

We were at your home and you wanted to talk to me.Talk to me about the end of us, mark a full stop on what made us fall in love, happy, enamoured. You said some final phrases, words cutting like shards of glass. I walked over hot coals, I heard you bring down our hopes and dreams. I listened to you throwing me to hell . I was cold suddenly, so cold. I died on the edge of your lips. I hung to your hate and it consumed me.

I left slamming the door, last burst of pride, last vanity. I said nothing, there was nothing to say. I left you to your hate, to your cries. I turned my gaze from the face I loved, misshapen by anger. 
I told myself as I descended the stairs you must have loved me a little to hate me so much.

I stayed a while in the road, empty, alone, lost in the shadow of all the moments of happiness. I stayed in front of your house, stunned with grief, a dry and frozzen salt statue without tears. I waited for a breath of life, a reason to take me far from you. I had to admit your absence, I must wend trough without you.

Breath short and soul lost I stayed in the warm air and the road without a moon. I heard
a footstep on the stairs. You were there. You were there and for the first time you were looking at me without love for, or maybe at last I saw that look. You reached out your hands to me, in a movement without warmth or affection. Like a slap in the face that you wouldn’t dare. You reached out to me but not to hold on to me.

I ran away. I couldn’t deal with your anger I couldn’t live with the total, terminal rejection. Each time my foot hit the ground it, put a much needed distance between you and me, every stride got me nearer to your wishes, to live without me.

I crossed the road without looking back. I heard the noise of brakes, the sound of an impact,
I turned around. You were on the ground and a distraught man was getting out of his car towards you. He rang the emergency services while I leant over you and I told in an empty voice, your wounds, your state. Unconscious and broken, I didn’t dare to take you in my arms. I held your neck, I made all the right movements, noting all the vital parameters without thinking, without thinking it was you.

I followed you to the hospital. I assume I found your parent’s phone number so we could inform them. When they arrived, I told them what I could. They had the heart to accept that I should stay and return to your bedside night after night.

But when the surgeons announced that you would be coming out of coma, I couldn’t wait until you opened your eyes. I breathed every small breathe, I breathed with you, I listened to your heart beat, I waited for each lungful through your lips. I couldn’t, I couldn’t be there to see in your eyes that you didn’t want me anymore. 

I had already heard my sentence; I didn’t want to suffer a second time. I left when you regained consciousness. Your parents were with you, you didn’t need anything, or anyone else. 

I received the letters you sent me. When you finally asked me to return, I cried. You didn’t remember anything. You’d deleted all the memories from before you’d woken up. I can’t come back, Samuel, you decided it. 

Well, I gave you back these harsh moments. You are only missing your own memories of this period. I will painfully learn to live without you, without us. I will wait for your absence, wait for my hunger to fade, wait for the end of mourning. You are alive, and that’s all that matters. Appearances to the contrary, I’m a little dead. And it’s a part of me that I shall bury _ the most beautiful part, no doubt _ the part that was with you. 

Look after yourself, be strong, live like you wanted to.

Gabrielle.