To Harriet | A Short Story – Fiction

My darling Harriet,

Time has lost its significance; time has been terribly warped since we met. For, it seems like decades have passed from the last moment I saw you. Despite your profound sadness you looked very beautiful in your new dress that night, the last we spent together. Your words said you believed me, but your eyes stated the contrary. You know me too well my darling, too well. We have had so many glorious moments; still, as of late all I remember is the very day we met, in the flower market. I bought all your flowers and roses; well... how else could I prolong time spent around you? The smile you gave me that day still lives with me, my love. Perhaps because that was the only time I saw it so radiant.

I know it hasn’t been easy for you my dear, but Carl tells me your aunt is feeling better and that she was pleased with the provisions I sent you. Why didn’t you keep the money? You know you can trust Carl, out of all our coachmen he is the only one who drives me around and runs my personal errands. He has been with the family since my brother was a little boy. He tells me he was in love once too. I wonder if his heart burnt and ached as mine does.

Joy and pain converge towards what my love for you has become my dear Hatty. Although, I very much wish I could disentangle them in order to discard the pain, which seems the dominant feature of this feeling. This is the same for you too, no matter how much you deny it I can see and feel it. You have also changed. At the beginning all I thought existed in the world was beauty, smiles and happiness. It was as if I had been woken up from a long lasting dormant state. We smiled together at anything and everything. I still smile now at the memory of those moments, I miss them as much as I miss you my love.

I have packed everything. Tomorrow is the day we have been waiting for two months, two long months. Oh, how I have been counting down the hours. I know you have been doing the same too my dear. This morning I wrote a letter for my father, I thought I would give it to Carl so then he can hand it over after our train departs. I trust my older brother will be happy to look after the family business and inherit all the wealth. They will not miss me. To this date they still blame me for my mother’s death. My mother, who I never met, but somehow learnt to care for. Perhaps because of all the stories Carl tells me about her, how kind she was. He says that I remind him of her. He also said that I am not the cause of her passing away, that it was the fever she developed after my delivery.

The snow is falling as I write to you, which inevitably takes me back to our last night together, ten days ago. It is awfully quiet now, just like then. You did not understand why I needed so many days to get ready before our departure. Neither did I, at that moment when I informed you, but I do now and this is why I am writing this letter. It pains me to be reminded of your affliction, and I am sorry that that is the last memory I will have of your gentle face. But my dear, when were we last happy?

As I said, I have lost the perspective of time. As such, I do not recall the instant when our love morphed into this unbearable suffering. I became lost in confusion as to how so ethereal a feeling transformed into palpable anguish. Your radiant smiles have completely faded Hatty, my joy has been replaced by jealousy, your loving words are no longer pronounced, and my vision of our future together became the longing for the days when there was nothing but the present moment for us. Is this what love is, the metamorphoses of euphoria into torment? I fear what comes next my dear and this is the reason why I have decided to depart on my own. Now, I kiss this letter as if it were your face. Please accept the money Carl will bring to you, it should be enough for you to not have to worry about yours and your aunt’s future.

We shall never meet again my dear Hatty, but I will forever be grateful to you for having showed me the noble side of love. Goodbye.

Yours faithfully,
Arnold.

Original content by Abigail Dantes 2017 – Story inspired by original artwork from Agnes Laczo – To see more beautiful illustrations like this please follow @agneslaczo’s blog.