Letters. What one man wrote to the object of his affections.

But never sent them.

The Prologue

The morning was gray, damp, and cold, so typical for a New York City December morning. This was a morning he would not feel this coldness anymore. He had passed in his sleep. A peaceful passing in the physical sense, a passing anyone would envy. Painless. Painless in the physical sense, another matter emotionally and psychologically.

Now that the dawn was rising his friend and neighbor stirred with the chilled morning and she wondered when this building would ever have the heat up at a more reasonable hour. Nevertheless she donned her robe and looked forward to her morning coffee with her neighbor. What a nice man he always was she thought, always kind and gentle and considerate. What ever could have caused him to become so immersed in his private thoughts all these years? With that she knocked on his door expecting his always cheerful "Come in!" Quiet. She knocked again and called his name. Nothing. More quiet. Could he still be asleep she wondered? Maybe he didn't want to come out from under his blankets yet. She knocked again... nothing. Now she became concerned so she went back to her place to retrieve the key he provided to her for any necessary tasks. She turned the key which had never before been used, and calling his name there was still quiet. Ah, he's still asleep she observed calling out his name. No response. Now she became concerned and approached him. Still thinking he was asleep she soon discovered from the blue color of his lips and ashen whiteness of his skin that he had departed this world. She wept in silence. She did notice that he was clutching a sheaf of envelopes to his heart. In taking them from his tightened fingers she saw that they were addressed simply to a first name.

She knew something of her but just enough to know that she was a distant love object, someone he never shared a love with. She soon realized that these letters were never mailed. She exclaimed to herself that he had spent all those secret moments in writing to someone who never even saw what he wrote. What else could be she thought, the letters were still here. Who was this creature that could have possessed him so greatly and for so many years she wondered? Looking over at the address book on his desk the thought occurred to her that there might be a listing inside. Not knowing a last name she looked and found a simple listing for the first name. Not that far away she noticed. In that instant she completely considered calling the number, telling of his passing in the night, and lastly but with incredible emotion, to tell of these letters. A quantity of letters that he was holding to his heart in his final moments and that were written and held back by him for all these years. What would this lady feel about this she asked herself? She realized that the overwhelming curiosity she was experiencing might also be felt by the intended, she immediately went for the telephone, pointed her index finger just below the number, and pressed the buttons, all ten of them, waited for the ringing, hoping a human voice would answer.

"Hello?" She was there. Why she didn't fully understand but as one woman to another she just felt it was right for the letters to reach their final destination. She reflected that she had been a faithful and loyal friend for such a long time and had never even been asked out, not even for a cup of coffee. Apparently, the declining of another to join him for coffee at a bookstore was a permanent inhibition from ever asking anyone out ever again.

In a moment she told of the letters and that she would be happy to forward them to their proper home. Writing the address, she went to the post office that very day, putting the end to his suffering, although posthumously. Contacting his next of kin, the final arrangements were placed in motion. She left that city right afterwards. She didn't want to be available should any questions be asked, and left no forwarding information. There must have been a strong reason he never mailed the letters she reflected.

A few days later the thick parcel arrived. There was no return address. Where did he live? Why no return address? There was the postal stamp with the city and state. Not that far. Letters though? What could this be? A bunch of letters that were never sent? They would have made good reading after remaining alone all those years, always skeptical of advances by men and never believing love would ever come in this life. Being buried in work to erase any impulse to love another. The pain was too, too great and the vow had been made to never be betrayed again. She knew he had perceived this condition in her correctly from the beginning and that she had been seriously wounded but she never gave him the chance to know just how much. If she did then he would reopen those wounds, he'd never accept being beside her and not being deep inside her heart, and she couldn't bear the thought of feeling that ever again, even though she knew he was the one who could heal her heart. The effort she made to resist her surrender to him was a monumental task and effort that left her drained. Why she didn't give herself to him she never understood considering he was the only man she ever really thought about.

Grasping the box and feverishly tearing the wrapping open she sat down and gazed at the contents. A stack of letters of lavender stationery with the appearance of being around for quite a long time, sealed and unopened, unstamped, but addressed with a first name. Unsent. Engaged staring at them for a very, very long time, darkness fell outside the window, the time simply disappearing with the reliving of the memories. Reminiscing, having never given up thinking of him, and before she even touched a letter, grief suddenly striking her with the realization, she cried out "He's gone!" Streams of tears cascaded downward along the slopes of her cheeks raining upon the letters, finally bringing their love together for the first time. The release of emotion was overwhelming for her as she collapsed upon the box of letters in the darkness clutching them to her breast as he did in his final moments. In an attempt to surround and capture his spirit with her body, she finally said I love you to him across the abyss of forever.