Dear Fleur

As much as it hurts that my hands will not be the one that encapsulates yours tonight. That my lips will not be the taste that you want tonight. That I can no longer rock you to sleep or kiss you goodnight. That my embrace will no longer be as satisfactory to you as a warm bowl of soup on a cold winter evening. That my presence no longer brings happiness to your delicately beautiful face. That I can no longer run my hands through your silky hair.

I really do hope that whoever you choose to kiss tonight. Whoever you choose to love tonight. Whoever you choose to share a toast with tonight. Whoever knows all your new secrets. Whoever is lucky enough to be in your bed. Whoever is lucky enough to call you, “mine.” I really do hope they’re the best kiss you’ve ever had, and the best love you’ll ever have. Because as much as it hurts me so much to watch you from afar, drunk in love with him, I love you so much that I want you to be happy.

Fleur, my love is not conditional on whether you chose to stay or not. My love is not conditional on whether you’re mine or not. So whether it’s with me or with anyone else, I want you to be the happiest you’ve ever been.

You might be wondering why I am writing this letter to you. Because you always complained I’m a man of few words, a man who keeps his emotions as hidden away as possible. You always complained about how you couldn’t decipher what was going through my head, because I had become a robot and loving you felt more like a chore. I had become so distant during intimacy, so much that you’d cry after we made love. You wanted so much for me to tell you how I felt, all those times we had explosive and emotional arguments. Arguments that made me shut off and retreat into the safety of my hard shell. Arguments that made you scream and beg for a sign, a sign that I’m still that man you met 5 years ago, in a club in Boston. The man who shared your profound love of Merlots. You wanted so much for me to reciprocate your feelings and hold you close and tell you I am still here, and I still love you. And no one else would ever replace the feeling I get every time I look into your deep brown eyes.

Fleur, I want you to know that I tried. I want you to know that there’s nothing more important to me in this whole world than your smile. I want you to know that if I could have picked between losing all my limbs or losing you, I would have happily chosen the former. So many nights when you went to sleep beside me, in your favourite pyjamas, the one we got from Italy from the old cheerful man at the market, I would stare at you and wondered how I’d gotten so lucky to have someone as beautiful as you. Those feelings are usually followed by me realising how much I didn’t deserve you.

You see Fleur, sometimes the ocean looks calm and picturesque. It looks deceiving and invites you to swim. But its depths are filled with dead bodies, sunken ships and pollution, and the ocean can pull you down as quickly as possible, and leave you gasping for air and struggling to breathe. This past year, I have been struggling to breathe, despite my best efforts to be calm and be the man you love. But I tried so hard to hide it away from you. Because I only want you to see me as a protector, your knight in shining armour and not a weak man drowning in emotions and seeking sympathy.

I know you’re jealous of her.

The one who you think has all of my attention, the one you think has taken over my heart and stolen your one true love. The one you think I now share a bottle of Merlot with, every Tuesday night. I tried to tell you she doesn’t exist. And that she’s a figment of your imagination. But you never believed me. You’ve always found it so hard to trust me. And I completely understand. I know how hard it must be after dealing with issues of abandonment and the type of men that had come before me.

I have been pushing you away because I didn’t know the extent of your love for me. I thought after so many arguments, my distance, my reluctance at doing our favourite things together, the cloud of secrecy that has plagued us these past few months, you’d leave. That you wouldn’t have to go through the heartbreak of watching me decline little by little. That by the time I’m at the end of my rope, you’d be happy with someone else again. And forget all about me. I thought by then I’ll stop being a burden, in addition to everything you have to deal with in your life. I owed you that. Happiness. Unlimited happiness. That’s what I promised you on the day we met.

But you didn’t leave Fleur.

You didn’t leave for a long time. You stuck by me and it ate so deep into me. It fucked me up and I know it fucked you up too. It must suck, knowing the type of love I am capable of, watching me wither away day by day. Watching me become the shadow of myself whilst you kept trying. I know what it did to you and I’ll never forgive myself for putting you through that. I had anticipated this and weighed the pros and the cons. It was either intense worry and despair, stealing the joy out of your early twenties to care for a sick husband that will eventually die, or a few months of heartbreak over a relationship that is broken, and happiness and freedom for you thereafter.

I took care of my mother in her last days as she battled brain cancer. I remember telling you how strenuous and mentally stressful it was. I loved her so much and I know she loved me, but the pain in her eyes whenever she asked me to do things that a son shouldn’t have to do, really broke my heart just like it broke hers. So many nights I sat by her side and she begged to die with dignity. She wanted her last days to be filled with the joy of watching me grow and blossom, rather than stealing my childhood to care for her illness. So Fleur, when the same disease came knocking on my door on the 24th of August last year, I knew I couldn’t let you go through what I had gone through whilst caring for my mother.

It was on a Tuesday, and we were meant to share a bottle of Merlot and watch family guy and snuggle. It was red pyjamas day. It was also spaghetti day. It was the day before your first day at work, the day you had been looking forward to all your life. You were so excited and I could see it plastered all over your face the moment I walked in. And so I couldn’t bear to tell you. It broke my heart into pieces but I couldn’t bear to tell you. I dealt with it by being so distant, hoping you’d leave me and live your life. Like the free-spirited, amazing, emotional and adventurous woman you are. Hoping the 1 year I was given to live would be enough for you to find happiness in the hands of another. And that you’d eventually forget about me. But as I write this letter, on my death bed, I realise I made a mistake. A big one. I should have let you choose.

I should have given you that choice. Because there’s no other face I’d rather see as I take my last breath than yours. No other hands I’d rather hold. No other lips I’d rather kiss. I miss you so much. I love you even more. And I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry Fleur.

I wish I could take it all back. And If there’s another lifetime, I’ll come back as a bottle of Merlot, so that I can be your favourite again, so that I can be so close to your perfectly shaped lips and be yours again. By the time you read this letter, I’m already gone, and hopefully reunited with my mother. Somewhere in the parcel where you’d find this letter, is a bottle for you, just like old times, a bottle of Merlot, just for you.

I love you.