First Letter From Clarity (Chapter 7)

These words are ten years into the past as your eyes cross over them, yet I would venture to assume they could be as new as the sunrise was on this morning that you are only now reading them. Take what you will from them, dear Ansel, for I write them in hopes of somehow giving back to you some small piece of everything you've been stripped of for so long.

You went to prison today, Ansel. For many months before this day, you were somewhere between the free world, and the one you are just now being abruptly introducted into. For each and every one of those days, I am quite certain, we have both been in hell. This day does not signify our exit from such a place. Today, you are no longer your own person. A concept true of every person ever stripped of their freedom, but for you, a certainty running much deeper within then most might experience. For that, I feel myself to be at least in part at fault. And for that, I am not sorry.

Only hours ago, I watched an everyday man in the middle of his life, wearing his Sunday best, with an anxiety that ran through my bones like cold and harsh electricity. I watched that man, most likely with a family of his own, a love of his own, read the decision of ten other everyday people also dressed in their sharpest of garments. A decision that not one of them had volunteered to make. A decision that, before this particular case, not one of them had ever even considered. A decision that took you, or rather the possibility of you that is, away from me.

I did not watch your face as fate was handed down unto you.

I could not bare such a thing.

I was not there, in that moment, with you, Ansel.

And for that, I am sorry.

I did not watch as they escorted you past me from my place in the first row of attendees.

I saw only your shined shoes go sluggishly by, the same that you wore to Senior Prom as my other half not so long ago.

And for that, I am sorry.

Since the day this whole nightmare began, I have not looked you in the eyes. Not on that first moment we existed together in the courtroom. Not during a single moment of your trial, though I was present for them all.

Not once, have I allowed the harrowing reality we now find ourselves in, to be dissolved by the love we've known for all of these years.

And for that, I am sorry. And regretful. And saddened. And all of the emotions that humans hate to know, on the deepest of levels.

You see, Ansel, I do not hate you. Though most would, it is not in my nature to hate you. When you love somebody in the way that I have loved you, you cannot possibly hate them, even after what you've done. You can pretend with all of your imagination that it is so, but underneath it all, the love prevails.

And for that, I hate love. I would love to hate you. I would love to put all of my energy into hating you, insteading of being consumed by the loss. And I am consumed by the loss, Ansel. Of her: Yours and Mine. Of you. Of us. Of everything good in each day. Of all the broken hearts.

You see, the days do not hold the good in them anymore. They simply hold nothing. They are just...days. They come, they go. That is all. And what's the fucking point of that?

You, better than anyone, know that it is not characteristic of me to look upon life in such a devoid light. You, better than anyone, could fix this.

There is something that I must admit to you, that you deserve to know, though you will not for nine years. And perhaps that is just the way it should be. I cannot say who deserves what in a matter like this. Regardless, you should know that I feel responsible for what happened. Those last few hours that we spent, they were perfect, you know. That is, until that last moment. You turned into that other side of you, Ansel. That side that you never wanted to admit existed. That side that you've never revealed the origins of. You became another person. And it scared the living hell out of me.

And so I walked away. And now here we are. Worlds apart. Both of us imprisoned.

I do not know what I am these days. I do know that it is not anything I've ever been before. I do not know what you are these days either. This breaks my heart.

You see, I fear that I created the side of you that came out on that night. You know, because of the way I kept us so out of reach of destruction. Did it all start because of that?

For the longest time, I thought I was keeping safe something so sacred to me, to us. It was only today, when you were taken away, that I thought: what if I've been taking the very thing I love away this whole time?

It is only now that I wonder if this whole thing was my fault. And I find the blame feeling much closer to me than to you.

The guilt that I feel has become the meaning in my life, Ansel. The purpose. And when you went away today, for the final time, I felt more guilt than I thought any human might ever bare. Guilt for the fact that I will go on in this world of possibility, though I do not see it on this day, while you enter a world controlled by someone other than yourself. Guilt for my suffering, and for yours.

I've made arrangements with the prison guard in charge of the mail. You will recieve this, along with eight other letters, on the day you are freed.

I will write you once a year, Ansel. I will tell you of each year. Of the progression of the world. Of the possibilities of the next three hundred and sixty five days. I will paint for you the history that you are no longer complicit in the making of. I will do this so that you might find meaning in the world when you come back into it. So that you might feel something other than lost.

I will do this for some semblance of meaning in my own life.

I will do this for hope. Hope that you will do what I ask next.

Live, now that you are out, Ansel. Live in whatever way you can.

I will write you nine letters over the course of nine years, Ansel, ending on the day you are once again free. I will fix myself during this time. And when you are out, I ask that you fix yourself. I cannot be by your side for this one. You must do it for yourself. We came into each others lives at a time when we needed each other in ways bigger than either of us could understand. We did our best for the other, and we loved for it. The next time I see you, I would like for it to be on no other terms than that love. I will wait for the day that we can, together, live for our love.

We must first find ourselves in this changed world.

And we must do it honestly.

We parted ways on the day you killed ______, Ansel. But you were not Ansel on that day. You were not being true to yourself. You were afraid of yourself. And this, Ansel, is why I do not blame you.

Always together,

Clarity