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Jude's Dear V, Letter

Dear V,

They were a gorgeous shade of evergreen.

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My life was forever changed the night I caught you standing out on that rooftop, staring at me with those evergreen eyes of yours. Your hair was tied back into a low braid. It weaved perfectly down the back of your head, curving at the base of your neck. The ends of your chestnut-colored strands were draped over your shoulder. You were beautiful in the Boston city lights. 

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You caught my breath and stole it straight from my lungs, trapping it with that gorgeous smile of yours.

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From there on out you consumed me. My life. My soul. All of it became yours the second I stepped up to you and tugged that purple ribbon free from your hair.

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I’ve never had a way with words. You’ve always been the one who could speak more eloquently and deeper than I ever could. I never realized how deep your love for them ran until I’d read your diary after you left. The way you poured your heart into the pages as if you were breathing life into them. You shared your happiness and your pain. Your heartache and your loss. 

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It took me weeks before I was able to bring myself to open your diary and read one of the entries. Although you left it behind, and we were no longer together, it felt as if I’d broken the lock on the cage you kept around your heart. The diary entries were written to me, but they were never meant to be read by me. But as the weeks and months passed since you left, I was broken. 

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Distance grew ever so slightly between the life we shared and the life I was living. I didn’t drink because I didn’t want to numb the pain. Losing you was raw and real. A pain I deserved. I was afraid if I drank, the memory of you and what we had would become lost. One day, when the hollowness in my chest became too great, I caved. I cracked open the spine of your leather-bound journal and read the first page. I’m not going to lie. A tear slipped from my eye the second I read the first two words:

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Dear J, 

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I sniffed, cleared my throat, and continued reading. Each word was a bandage to my soul. Each word made me feel impossibly closer to you. You were real. Our love was real. Our child was real. And the loss of it all was sure as fucking real. 

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I carried your journal with me everywhere, as if it were my own personal line of oxygen, keeping me breathing. I brought it to the office. To job sites in my back pocket. In my nightstand. Each day, I’d slip the purple ribbon to mark a different entry. I never kept it in the same spot, moving it to the page I connected with most. 

Every day I carried you with me, Victoria. 

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I carried the memories with me. The way your skin tasted. How it felt to have myself buried inside you. The sound of your laughter when I told a joke. The feel of your hair wrapped around my fingers. I carried every single memory with me, every single day.

Our love hasn’t been easy, but is love ever simple?

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Even if you’re handed the best of circumstances, you risk heartache. Love isn’t linear, it’s a double-sided coin, and our love came with heartache.  

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But now, as I lay here in our bed and watch you sleep, I know our love no longer has to come with pain. It’s vibrant and full of color. It’s joy and sadness rolled into one.

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I will never forget the way I hurt you, V, but I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I would say I want us to forget our past and only look to the future, but forgetting the past would mean I would have to let go of all the beauty that is woven into it. The way we met. The way our love moved excitingly fast. The way my heart skipped a beat when you told me you were pregnant. I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with you, V.

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You are my whole world.

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And now, as I lay beside you, I look down at your stomach and think of the beautiful life growing inside you. 

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Nothing in this world will ever compare to you and them. You’re it.

You’re the be all and end all for me. 

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My breath. My soul. My life.

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The only life I truly wanted.

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The only life I want.

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I think it’s about damn time we start living it.

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Don’t you think, Mrs. Harding?

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Love always,

J.

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********

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Up next is Sweet Nothings, Lennon and Laurel's story!

Don't miss this deliciously spicy, angsty Marriage of Convenience/Arranged Marriage!

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© 2024 by Brittany Taylor
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P.O. Box 263

Springvale, ME 04083
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