Cynthia's Letters

{Pointless}

Cold fingers against her temples felt nice.

     The scene looked like one from an old novel, she thought; tall candles flickering, sending a yellowish light across the writing paper and quill spread in front of her. She enjoyed writing with a quill, even though it wasn’t the easiest form of writing. It wasn’t modern, and that fact made her drawn to it even more. She had mastered neat handwriting with it long ago, and frankly, it was her favorite. 

    Sighing, she took her hand away from her face. She began scrawling pointless words on the paper. Whenever she gave thought to it, it was pointless, but she could never attempt to stop herself from continuing. It was like something had latched on to her against her will, feeding her these words to write; alas, it was nothing like that. Knowing all too well what it was like to do things against her will, she understood it was of her own doing.

     It was baffling, though, that she wrote this at all. Why did she write all of these letters—these pointless, pointless letters? She concluded, sadistically, that there wasn’t a good explanation. It was her mind, her truly ruined mind, ruined from the years of the life she had led, proving that it was wearing down; much like her heart. She would never admit to the latter.

     The tears returned, never failing to splash on her page, creating obstacles for her to avoid. If she were to write through them in her writing haste, the paper would tear, and she would have to begin again. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to write this again.

      Leaning back, she reminded herself to sit upright. In the midst of her quick words, she had hunched over her desk, becoming consumed with her own thoughts and the process of putting them on the page. It was an awful habit, she knew, and that wasn’t usually how she went about things. But this was different. Somehow, she allowed herself to completely let go of everything else, just so she could write. That, in the depths of her ruined mind, amazed her.

      “Pointless,” she murmured, near inaudibly. Wiping the remains of the tears from her face, she looked at the finished letter, and began to read the words.

Dear You,

                I honestly do not know why I am writing you again…I know I start every letter off that way, and I apologize. Truly, this isn’t like me, as you know. But I feel like things need to be said, and I can’t say them any other way.

                I’m slipping. I’m slipping really hard, and really fast. But you know what the worst part is? I’m not done slipping. Does that make sense? Never mind, I know it doesn’t. When you slip on a wet tile floor, it’s so quick that you can’t even recall the fall; only the part where you land, hard. I’m continuously slipping, and I have no idea when I’ll finally and painfully land. Do you understand how difficult that is? Knowing something’s going to happen, something bad, but you have no idea when, where or how? Maybe I know how, or I have an idea, and maybe I have an idea of where, but when? That’s the big deal. And that’s the answer that I’m completely clueless of.    

                Goodness, I feel so childish. People look at me and they see this woman who knows how to handle these things. They put their faith in this woman, but for what? For that woman to run off and cry in a letter she never should have started writing?

                Why is it that I’m slipping? Why can’t I handle this situation? Why have I been through so much nonsense and can’t get through such a thing as this? This isn’t the first time my position has been threatened…But it is, however, the first time I feel threatened.

                The truth is, simply, I am weak. They always say to just face it and admit your weaknesses. Right? My grandmother was strong…She really was, she was the person I looked up to. In a way, I feel she gave me my strength. I guess she took the strength with her when she left. Of course I’m not blaming her…If anyone I’m blaming myself for being weak, and now filled with guilt.  All the years I wasted by not being with her, leaving her to become a trainer, not being there when she passed…She was completely alone in an empty home. I don’t want to die that way. I would want my only family with me. Now I don’t have any family left.

                That’s okay, however, because I truly have great people in my life. Rowan, Jamie, Annie, all the people downstairs working away in an office; doing what they adore…Minus Annie, who I said could leave the League if she desired to. She did. It was obvious. She had mentioned to me before, a long time ago, that it wasn’t a great feeling being demoted…And frankly that’s what she was. She once was a champion here, living in this great room, making Sinnoh a better place. And she was demoted to being an advisor. I miss her, I do, but I’m really happy for her at the same time, happy she’s back where she wants to be, in her hometown. 

                Also, I have you. You mean more to me than you will ever come to understand. You’ve been through so much with me, and I love you with all my heart. I have for the longest time, and I always will. I know I will. I’ve never felt this way for anyone else, ever.

                And now I’m crying.

                The other night I had the most vivid dream. I dreamt I lost you. I don’t know how, but it just happened. And I felt like dying. There was this pit inside of me, an unbearable pit, overflowing with horrible emotions. The emotion followed me after I woke up, and I wanted nothing but to be in your arms. You didn’t know this, of course, or else I’m sure you would’ve run to me and wrapped your arms around and embraced me like I desired so badly. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire lifetime. Needless to repeat, I love you, so much. Maybe one day, you can wrap your arms around me and embrace me like I desire so badly. And maybe one day, you’ll help me up because I’m slipping. And maybe one day, I’ll be the one demoted. And maybe one day, I’ll see Grandmother again.

                But I have so much to worry about with the here-and-now, I can’t possibly think about ‘maybe one day’ any longer.

                Forever,

                Cynthia

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