You and my 2 other fears – odd prose

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you-and-my-2-other-fears-odd-prose

You and my 2 other fears

It was one of those cold April mornings when you feel like wearing your coat, but you know it’s gonna be warm at noon. I took my coffee and hit the road, going to my best friend’s apartment. I promised Mathilde I’d get her one of those chocolate cakes I like to buy weekly.

She had this childish way of loving everything; chocolate cakes especially. She was the most optimistic person I’ve ever met, and I absolutely adored her. She seemed naive and innocent, but she was the strongest person I’ve known; there was no battle she couldn’t overcome.

I owe her everything. God put her in my path exactly when I needed someone the most. She made me go against every single thing that I believed in and made me the person I always wanted to be. If it wasn’t for her I would’ve been dead by now. One of my biggest fears was always failure. And ever since I’ve known this woman, she made sure I always succeeded.

That particular day, something didn’t feel quite right. The wind was bitterly cold, and the sky was overcast. Something didn’t seem right when I arrived at her apartment. A taxi was waiting outside and I assumed it was for her flatmate. Mathilde, on the other hand, dashed out the door clutching a suitcase, proving me wrong. But as soon as she saw me, she stopped.

– Enora! she said, looking surprised. I tried to say something, but nothing came out of my mouth, so she continued: I am moving to England. I know it is a bit last minute, but I have a job offer as a research assistant and I can’t miss it. I promise I’ll write.

The driver said something that was inaudible to me but very clear for Mathilde. She hugged me, whispered a “Goodbye” and she climbed into the taxi.

And with that, my saviour was gone, and I had no way of telling her how I felt.

 

Three years have passed and no word from her. So one day, I decided to write her a letter. I sat at the table, where my shabby pencil used to scribble my 3 am thoughts on tissues was waiting for me to compose another poem dedicated to Mathilde. But this time I was determined to say goodbye. So I grabbed my quill and a piece of paper and I started:

My dear,

It’s been three autumns and there is no news from you. May I ask, how is London? Paris seems hollow without you exploring it and this language doesn’t make sense anymore; because the streets miss the way your feet struck the pavements and French sounds divine only on your lips. I am truly sorry to announce to you that your favourite coffee shop has closed and I haven’t eaten a chocolate cake since you left.

I am angry and heartbroken because of your leaving. No amount of books or caffeine can scatter my agony. You left and now all I have left is the inescapable curse of loving you and the lonely nights in my darkened room that drain me of power. My house has never been this empty and the Champs-Élysées has never been this silent. I achieved everything I wanted, but I have failed you.

You saved my life and gave it purpose. These were the finest years of my life because I got to spend them with you. I have known happiness and I have known sorrow. And I wouldn’t change anything. With this, I’d want to express my gratitude for everything you’ve done and bid you farewell.

Yours until the end, Enora”

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