My Dearest Theresa
I hope this letter finds you in a quiet moment,
for I fear it carries the weight of my own heart laid bare. Forgive me, for I have let you down.
You were there when I faltered, your hand clasping mine as we wandered among the Christmas trees, their twinkling lights mirroring the colors of your soul.
I see those colors still—vivid, unyielding, alive.
You have always sought to live within that vibrant glow, and I have long admired it from afar, wishing I could join you there.
Since childhood, I have wanted to hold your hand, to walk the same paths and share the same dreams.
Yet life, with its unrelenting tides, pulled us apart—you one way, I another.
The sky remains blue, the night eternal in its scatter of stars, but I cannot look at them without thinking of Nathan, and the depth of a mother’s love for her only son.
There are oceans between us, waves of loss and longing, yet I urge you not to be ashamed of what was.
Love, as fleeting and profound as poetry, is never in vain.
In two days, I have thought of you more than I have allowed myself in years.
Your laughter, your pain, your resilience—it all lingers like a melody half-remembered.
I feel your sorrow as if it were my own, though mine has become a ghost, haunting the corridors of regret as the years slip by.
But in those fleeting days, there was happiness, wasn’t there? A spark of something pure and untarnished.
Hold on to that, Theresa, for love, though ephemeral, is the truest gift we can give each other.
Yours always,
James McLain
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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