I stagger along the tree-arched footpath; the bronze light through decaying trees no doubt casting cracked contours upon my face. I take a swig from the bottle. I seek the nearest bench and curl up on its mouldy slats. I eye every passing stranger who looks at me with fear and disgust. I must look vile. I abandon the thought and take out the torn notepaper from my pocket; a letter that he’d left upon the kitchen table for me to find, one year ago. I read it for what must be the billionth time; each and every word causing my heart to bleed, my soul to cry.
My dearest Sally,
I spoke with the doctor today. He said I only have three months to live.
I am devastated. I am lost. I need to run.
I cannot let you see me deteriorate every day.
I want you to remember me for who I am.
I am headed to a place far from here; the sea shall wash away the pain.
Please do not look for me.
I will always love you my angel.
Our love will never die.
Smile your beautiful smile, always.
I take another swig from the bottle, close my eyes, and fall into stagnation.