Dear Sarah,

The blaring white glow of the blank document seemed to mock the dark circles under David’s eyes. He rested his chin on his hands and rubbed his face, urging it into creative awareness. The idea of writing her a letter had seemed so simple in the state of half-dreaming, half-consciousness last night as they lay in bed together.

In the moment of itching motel sheets and blaring ambulance sirens outside, the softness of her skin as he stroked her arm and the gentle rhythm of her breathing has seemed like a respite. Sitting before the computer screen, he grasped for the lines of poetry that had sung through his head the previous night, but the scent of instant coffee and the incessant clicking of people typing, printers running and copiers beeping all around him was making it impossible to recall anything. Combined with the sense of urgency now impressed on the situation from their fight that morning, he could barely think of anything except the way her green eyes had seemed to glow in the dark as she threw pillows at him while he attempted to get dressed. He placed his hands on the keyboard and one letter at a time forced himself to write.

Last night while I was lying next to you, stroking your soft skin, smelling the scent of citrus in your hair, the idea for this letter came to mind. I realized I never tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me.

He stopped and re-read the first few lines. It sounds like a load of bullshit, he thought. Why was it so difficult to recall the feelings of the night before? This seemed a perpetual problem to David. He opened a game of solitaire and absentmindedly played as he wracked his brain for ideas of what a love letter should contain. Even trying to recall the first time he’d seen Sarah was a blur. All he could remember was that she was wearing a black skirt and a red top, the details of both were unclear, and he was fairly certain that vaguely describing her attire from that trip to the dentist’s office was anything but romantic. He tried to think of what she might like and wrote again.

I wish I could provide you with everything you want. I mean diamonds and trips to exotic beaches, yes, but more than those things; I mean my time. When I have to, at times, cancel our plans, your silence on the other end of the line snakes out of the receiver and constricts my heart until I can barely breathe. All I can think about on those nights is the image of you leaning against the counter near the phone in your kitchen, clutching your pink, silky bathrobe tight around your shoulders, biting your nails, hoping I’ll call back with news that I’m coming over anyway. Thinking that maybe tonight is finally the night. The thought that I can hurt you, whom I love so much, makes me sick with disgust and self-loathing. It makes me feel like something less than human, not worthy of even knowing your name, but I take solace in the fact that someday I will find a way to make it up to you.

The last sentence jolted him. Caught up in the image of them together in a setting outside of the bedroom, he had begun making promises. Closing his eyes, he pictured her reading those words. She would be twisting one blonde ringlet around and around her finger, one arm curled around her torso, the other holding the letter out in front of her. He could picture the tears following each other one by one down her face. The image was at once exhilarating and terrifying. How easy to write suddenly. He read back over the letter again thinking how clever the line about the snake and how she would surely comment on his brilliance. Sitting up straighter in his chair, he clenched and unclenched his finger, then caught a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes staring back at him from the picture frame beside his computer. Instinctively, without hesitation, he slammed the frame down on its face, the picture now facing only the gray plastic veneer of his desktop, and returned his attention to the screen.

Today, this letter is helping me recover from our fight this morning. All day I’ve been sitting at work staring at my computer screen formulating ways to prove my love to you and plans to reach our goal of ultimate togetherness as soon as possible and overcome all the frustrations you shouted at me this morning. I’m a little embarrassed to say it, but I kept getting distracted by how beautiful your eyes looked in the soft glow from the window this morning, the green even more vibrant and intoxicating than usual. I wish I could have told you that in person and that I could have stayed with you all day and worked out everything, but I know you understand, and your patience is just one more check on a list of reasons why you are perfect, and soon, very soon my dear, everything will be just as you want it.

His fingers were hitting hard on the keyboard, pounding each letter with force.

I know that you’ve heard these things before, but I feel like putting it down in words makes it real, like a contract of my love. With this paper I’m giving you a promise, just like the ones I’ve whispered in your ear in the dead of night and when I’ve pulled you close before a parting kiss, but this you can keep under your pillow to help you sleep at night when you’re missing me. When you’re lonely and it’s too early to call because you might wake her up as well, just pull out this letter and know someday, every night, we will be lying next to each other, and you won’t need this letter anymore.

Love,
David

He was excited now, face flushed and hands tingling from flying across the keyboard. Surely this would win her back, and it would be so easy. This could even hold off all the pressure she’d been putting on him, at least for a little while. About to hit “Print,” he was interrupted.

“Baker!”

David jumped, hearing his last name. Recognizing the voice, he frantically closed the window with the letter just a second before his boss’s head appeared around the cubicle wall.

“Have you finished that budget report yet?”

“Um, it’ll be done in about fifteen minutes.”

“All right good.” The man started to move on to the next cubicle, but paused. David’s breath caught in his throat as his boss’s eyes moved past him and toward the computer screen.

“Look, your picture of your wife fell.” He reached past David and righted the frame. Turning back to his screen, David was distracted by his wife’s beautiful bright blue eyes staring at him, and his eyes kept flashing back and forth between the two sights, so it took a second for him to realize that he had not saved the document. For a second he was filled with fury, a mixture of anger at himself and frustration and sense of loss. So much work, so much creativity, so much passion lost!

He looked at his wife.

someday, every night, we will be lying next to each other, and you won’t need this letter anymore

Perhaps it was for the best. At least for now.