InsaneJournal

Dead Letters
The faint clash of metal on wood jingled through the air like a whisper, the set of keys laid to rest on the small study desk. Quietly a chair protested against the thick fabrick of the carpet as it was pulled out, the sound of someone sitting down was almost a sigh. The drawer was slowly pulled open, a smooth leather bound book was brought out and placed almost delicatly onto the desk, the cover creased with use. A pen was clicked, the sharp noise echoing in the silence of the room. Flipping the book open, the pen was lowered.



Dad,

I know I haven't written to you in a while, and I want to apologise for that. There are things I know I should talk about, like mum or business, but I can't. Not right now, at least.

I've always done the right thing, haven't I, even in my own way? Part of the rules, right? Lately I've been lying, to my friends, my family. I'm not proud of this. I know I should be ashamed, that I should stop, but the truth is... I don't want too. You see, I've met someone, and she's so incredibly unique. I knew I liked her the very first time I saw her. I knew I shouldn't have, at all. I never expected what would follow, but I can't say I'm sorry for it. I guess that's the funny thing about hearts. And the lack of them.

This is the complicated part. Our species clash. She's one of them, a vampire. I know. I'm not the type to make such rash decisions and jump in the deep end, but if you could just meet her... She has these soft blue eyes that make me think of summer mornings, and the kind of smile that would warm you right up from your toes. They say that they don't have souls, that they don't feel what we feel. Maybe this is true, I've never asked. The fact is when I'm around her I don't have too, I just feel it, and despite what anyone says I swear she feels it too.

We've had our fair share of traumatic occurrences, each equally strange as it was insightful, in some obscure way. I'm not going into detail with that. All I will say is that they've altered my view on a few things. I never stopped to consider who the person was before. Why they were turned into what they are, or who that made them now. This isn't to say I'm pro-vampire, don't get the wrong idea here, murder is still murder. I like who she is, regardless of what she is, and I respect her because it's mutual.

I can't promise I know what I'm doing, and I don't know how it will end, but for the time being I cherish each moment I have with her. I'm not expecting you to understand. What I do, I do with my heart, as much as my head. That's not an excuse, it's fact, and it's important to remain truthful to myself. All that I ask is that if it's possible, wherever you are, please don't hold this against me.

Gavin