I was thinking about shells today. I saw a woman with a shirt that had them, and I remembered the beach, and you, and this box. I went back and read through all the letters, and for the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t sad about it – not in the same way.
I’ve been so tired lately. I’m so tired of being angry, and sad, because that wasn’t the point. I’m sad because I’ll never get to tell you certain things again. I’m sad about that, but I’m not sad like I was when you left. I think I held onto that too long. I confused it with loving you, and those aren’t the same. Being sad about the things I miss isn’t loving you. It never was. Loving you was so much bigger than that. .
I don’t think I can stop loving you. I think it’s a part of me now, and it’s never leaving. It makes me who I am, and I used to think this crippled me, but I don’t think it does anymore. Loving you has given you back to me. I’ve missed you. The old you. You never really came home, and I understand that now, and I know it wasn’t your fault or mine or anyone’s. It was just circumstances we couldn’t avoid, but I’ve realized that just because we ended the way we did doesn’t define what we were before.
To have those memories back is such a precious thing. To have that part of you back with me – it’s unimaginable. I was thinking about shells, and I was thinking about that day at the beach and I can remember sitting on the blanket looking at the water, and you asked me what I was thinking.
I was thinking about how afraid I was that I was never going to love you as much as I did then. That the moment was going to get washed out, that I would never be able to experience what it was like to know that I loved you as much as I did again…
Cas’ words seemed to drop off the page before starting again.
I’m sorry that things didn’t work out the way we wanted them to. I’m sorry – I’m sorry we weren’t as equipped to deal with the hand we got. The fact that we didn’t get to do the little plans hurts more than the big ones, sometimes. It wouldn’t have mattered about a house or the island. Sometimes I stop myself at work and realize I’m never going to sit in Van’s noodle house with you, and I don’t know exactly – I’m so terrible at letters, Dean. I’m glad you never had to read them when you were in Vietnam, they were all so terrible and boring and wordy.
I think –
I think that, the point of it all, is that the moment at the beach? I had never really understood who I was until then. That’s who I am. That person, and there, right there, next to me, that was you. That’s who you are.
It’s so wonderful to know that I didn’t lose you. That we were always right where we were supposed to be the whole time. This whole time I thought I’d lost you, and there you were…
Memories are good that way. I can remember us, and I can keep living. I can keep going and always know right where to find you when I miss you.
I miss you all the time.
I want you to realize this someday. All of that about us. You don’t – you don’t have to be guilty, and I know you are, and I understand why everything happened the way it did. It just happened. We just – it just happened, Dean, and it’s alright. I’m alright.
I’ll be okay.
Once, you told me it didn’t seem right to say goodbye. Not really.
I thought I’d have to – I thought I’d have to let go of everything I loved about you, but I don’t, and you were right, and wouldn’t you be pleased with yourself to know.
The truth of it has never been clearer to me, my darling.
And you are, always, my darling.
Yours,
Cas
A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, “My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?”
The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound.
The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.”
The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way.
Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery.
The monks accept him, feed him, even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier.
The next morning, he asks what it is, but the monks reply, “We can’t tell you. You’re not a monk.”
The man says, “All right, all right. I’m *dying* to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?”
The monks reply, “You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk.”
The man sets about his task. Forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, “I have traveled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth.”
The monks reply, “Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound.”
The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, “The sound is right behind that door.”
The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, “Real funny. May I have the key?”
The monks give him the key, and he opens the door.
Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone.
The man demands the key to the stone door.
The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby.
He demands another key from the monks, who provide it.
Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire.
So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz, and amethyst.
Finally, the monks say, “This is the last key to the last door.”
The man is relieved to no end.
He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound.
But I can’t tell you what it is because you’re not a monk
the way i learned this, it was always told through spoken word. And you’d do the door thing for ages. AGES. literally just making up any old material. ‘behind the foam door is a door made of spinach’ that kind of shit. Go on until whoever is listening has already begged you to stop and has now gone on to pleading, clutching your shirt on their knees pleading. And when you finally said the last line? People went fucking nuts Like there was a good chance of just getting the teeth knocked out of you after telling that joke.
A friend of mine did that shit for 30 minutes on a camp once. The entire fucking bus just exploded in anger when she finished. It was a fucking massacre.
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