With Love

Dear Idiot,

This is why people have filing systems. Stuffing me in an unread book was a bad move. Do you even read by the way? Judging by the state of my neighbours I’m thinking not. Pages pristine, covers an inch deep in dust. You’re never going to find me.

You’ve been through that desk twice. Coffee table too.

This wouldn’t have happened if you were brave enough to send me, either. Not that you know that. See, that’s our whole problem. You don’t even know I’m lost. You’re terrified you’ve sent me. Even as you tear your flat apart looking for me, you’re imagining me safe in the post.

On my way to him.

That’s why you’re crying.

It’s fair enough to be embarrassed, I guess. I’m a tad gushy. There’s a heart doodled in my bottom right corner. And I’m no expert on men—haven’t even met the one in question—but I assume it’s true they’re not into that kind of thing.

We could work on a second draft though. Without so much rosé this time. I might be biased, but I think you have something important to say.

If you ever find me that is.

Finally, Little Miss Do-It-Alone asks for help. Thank God for the Best Friend. Except, maybe not a good idea to bring more wine, Best Friend. That’s what got us into this mess. Make it a small one, okay Girls. To calm down a bit. Then a sensible once-over of the flat. You find me. Redraft me. Off I go. Handsome reads me, sees the error of his ways and bingo! Happily ever after. Yes? Doesn’t that sound grand.

Hopefully one more glass won’t be so bad.

Okay, so much for that bottle. Please, tell me you don’t have another in the fridge.

Well, crap. I’m toast.

At this rate, your grandchildren will find me when you die. I’m going to be a sad, adorable, sepia keepsake that flutters out of this copy of Rebecca you must’ve known you were never going to read, and into family lore—

You’re crying again.

Best Friend has some good advice though. Maybe you’ll take it.

You really do love this guy, don’t you.

Best Friend’s leaving. Tucking you in on the sofa. Straightening things up a bit. One last quick look round.

Look up, Best Friend. The bookshelf. I’m up here.

No such luck.

Wait, I must’ve dozed off.

There’s morning sun, the smell of strong coffee. You’re talking to someone, but there’s no one in the flat.

Ah, of course, a phone call. You’re taking Best Friend’s advice.

Pressed between book pages isn’t the best position for eavesdropping, but I can hear enough to tell it’s going quite well actually. You’re laughing a little. Then a little more.

He’s coming over.

So it’s all coming right in the end. I can stay lost. You said what you needed to say, and it looks like Handsome heard you. You didn’t need me after all.

See you around someday. Maybe when the grandkids read Rebecca.

With love,

Your Lost Love Letter