A LETTER LEFT UNSENT

Dear Yudrain,

To you, who carries the weight of a dead man's hopes, regrets, and eternity.

Falling for you was always the easy part. Perhaps it was inevitable from the start, a prayer written in the heavens too far for me to reach. You might disagree with me, and maybe you should. The truth is that you were a beauty from the myths—yes—but what undid me wasn't your halo. It was every glance stolen in the dark and every truth I was too afraid to utter.

I hope your heart, which has always been far too generous, still has space to forgive an undeserving man like me, Yudrain.

(cue memory:  a black-haired young man swinging a sword in the silvery light of the moon, his movements clumsy but undeterred. a sheen of sweat traces the line of his neck, warm and sticky against the cool night air, a testament to his hours of training. a blond watching him from the shadows in reverence for the man's determination. eventually, he tries to reach out—perhaps to ruffle his hair  or caress his cheek, but his hand halts mid-air at the last second, a sad smile gracing his ethereal features.)

You were swinging a sword when I first reached out. I had forgotten what it's like to have death trail me like a shadow even in dusk, if only for a heartbeat. But fate, a cruel old friend to whom all must bend, refuses me still. The weight of an unbreathing horse on my hands is still fresh, like the destiny etched on my flesh. 

Because that is my path, and this is yours. You are meant for blades, and I am but a memory that eventually fades. You will love while I will die in these gloves.

And so I smile, and let down my hand, unwilling to defile another thing I hold dear.

(cue memory: the smell of ripe fruits ingrained in the air, carrying sweetness, bitterness, remorse and tears. the omega falls down, his legs weak. he looked so sweet, it made the alpha drown—it was a sea of pain and pleasure, guilt and plea, an apology never said and an ache that still makes his heart breaks.) 

I don't know how to love without leaving a stain. I did not want to be lost to time, so I became the memory haunting you for a lifetime. Wove myself into every prayer, secret, and tear, became the ghost I never wanted you to fear.

That day, the air carried the scent of ripened fruits and you before it bled into hues of grief and self-loathing. Everything I embraced turned to shards, a ruin written from my own hands. 

I don't know whether I sought closure or exposure. The world stopped the moment I broke the one thing I thought I could still shelter.

(cue memory: yudrain's skin on mine, his arms, his legs and neck—all flushed with red. leather on his body, heat in his heart and a growing guilt in mine. ‘im sorry’ i want to whisper, but instead i continue to sneak myself into his mind, our fates entwined and on his back i leave my deadweight.)

It's because I selfishly craved for more when I realised your view on me was something I could not restore. Touched you with gloves, refused your gaze so you could not see my eyes filled with shallow love. 

I thought that if I held you tight in my arms—you could melt away my fears and all their alarms. That you could dissolve my ghost and find the boy within me, who is lost.

You are my eternity, while I am your calamity. I made you my Yudrain, leaving behind my warmth, and a fleeting gaze with this name—a shadow lingering long after I have gone.

(cue memory: your eyes seemed wet, like jewels in the moonlight. you looked so beautiful.) 

Now there’s nothing but stillness, as I await my coffin. I stand there in my room, waiting for the final lover’s embrace. Oh to be killed by my eternity, I wish to die not of this illness but by your contempt and rage.

It’s time for the final performance—there will be no audience, no applause, just a bow and a grave for me to rest.

When the curtains finally close, erase me from your memory. This letter, left unsent, will be the final thing I write.

   With love,

Kishiar La Orr.