Well I do not know what to call you, for you did not leave a name. I doubt even that you will read this. It is Tuesday today, so I wonder. But still, I will write this either way. I was walking past and saw a glint of white, poking from that little nook. I am a curious boy, very curious, I had to know. I am sorry that I now know your secret, when you probably wished it to remain unknown. But maybe this nook will hold my secret that I know your secret. Or maybe not. I know that just by reading that one letter, I cannot understand all your reasons for your choice. And I know, that any gallant knight in shining armour would write something inspiring so that you, the fair maiden does not have to ruin that pretty face. But I am not going to tell you to change your mind. Maybe Sleeping Beauty knew there was poison in that apple? Your reasons are yours, not mine. I admire that you have such courage. Such courage to take such a gallant step. I would shake your hand if I could, hugs are overused these days. What more is there to say? If we passed on the street we would not say a word to each other, barely look at the other. Maybe it's better to speak without seeing. I really should leave it there, and not dare to take another second away from you. But how much I want to keep writing, why? I do not know. One more thing I will say. I was told once that every girl is searching for their knight in shining armour. I never believed her, some girls wear their own armour.
There is no word to end this, for I am not saying goodbye.
And how am I to know what to call you? Tell me your name. No, actually, there is no point. If you do read this, I will most likely already be gone. It was cloudy on Tuesday, a chance of rain. So I spared one day and found this, upon coming to sit by the tree. What surprise it held. A reply I never expected. But you know what, I am happy I got one. Your fairy tales are much mixed up. It was Snow White that bit the apple and Sleeping Beauty who pricked her finger on a spindle. But maybe if Sleeping Beauty knew that Snow White would eat that apple she could have warned her, if she had not herself pricked her finger and slipped into sleep for a hundred years. Oh such a trivial thing I write of, who cares if Sleeping Beauty turned into the Ugly Duckling, it is all just child's tales. Without knowing children can dare to dream. Now dreaming is fearful. Knights cannot be trusted, no one with a weapon can. A fair maiden, oh such a women who cannot do anything for themselves.
Shunned for crying to their knight. Oh fairy tales. I do wish I could lean over a castle parapet and wave at a noble knight below. I dream to much for my own good. I must end this now, the sun is closing, and it is a walk home. I have not even said anything of consequence, though really none of it matters anyway. Thank you for writing a reply to me, thank you for giving me this more half hour.
Ah now the Ugly Duckling, there's a far tale. You know I have a true tale of that kind, just recently you know. Even if you don't want to hear it I will tell you. Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there lived a family. There were three sisters and one small little brother. Now the first sister she was always beautiful, the belle of the ball. The second sister, well she held some of her older sister's features, and could rearrange the rest to look stunning. The third sister though tried and tried, but whenever she looked in a mirror, she would look away before she cried. The brother he watched her, and tried to tell her that she was beautiful, but she would not hear. The third sister grew sadder and sadder, not listening to what anyone had to say. So then this sister, on one day, tried to keep her face to remain the same forever, by damaging that pretty neck. It was the brother who walked in and who saw the expression on her face. He just closed the door and left her there. She didn't kill herself in the end, she had found her true beauty. Every time she looked at her brother she was reminded of it. So she grew older and is still beautiful to this day. Everyone is beautiful you know, in their own way. But it's something that only they can see, something that only they can find. And for some, they never find it. The chances of you reading this are slim, you said so yourself. I don't doubt that you lie, but you said most likely. Most likely… Which means there is some chance that you haven't damaged that pretty heart. I must wish you luck, because that is all I dare give. Whichever path you choose, whichever you do, good luck. End on a good note I was always told.
I decided that I just had to wait to see if you would reply. One more day wouldn't matter. I won't wait for another reply though, I won't. Thank you for the luck, I will remember it. That was a beautiful tale you told, a beautiful ending also. To think she almost took that same path I choose. But I am not doing this because I am not beautiful, I would never do such a thing over vanity. Why was every fair maiden renowned in all the land for their beauty? But you know, the prince fell in love with Rapunzel's face, not her voice. I would rather though, have someone fall in love with my heart, not my face, not my voice, not even me. But my heart. I will welcome someone to fall in love with my heart. There's a little girl, sitting over there, on the bench under that big oak. I hated it when they put that bench there, it ruined the oak's ambience. But that's not what I'm talking about. This little girl, she's by herself, she can't be more than 5. I'm not surprised that she's crying, there all alone. And no one's paying attention, not one person has cared to stop and help her. Poor girl. I can't watch her like that any longer, I'm going over.
A last act of gratitude. I hope the girl is safe now, wherever that may be. Odd that no one stopped. A crying girl, where has all the kindness gone. On the news today, it mentioned a person who jumped off the cliff at Bradley's Peak. I always wondered why they called it a peak. Nevermind. Is that you? They said it was suspected suicide, that could be you. It fits. You said the last would be your final reply, and then this? I do wonder. It was odd though how easily it was said, how the newsreader showed no emotion, nothing really but their monotonous tone. Like a comment in passing really. Yet somewhere out there, I bet there's someone crying, someone being sad. But we only cry for those we know. I read a story once about a young boy who cried all night and day. When he was asked why, he simply said 'because someone's dying out there.' And it was the truth, I guess. But it was this young boy, that felt it. Of course, that is just a story, not true, but it shows how we only cry for those we love. We'd be like that little boy if it was otherwise. Too much death to turn our heads at it all. You're just a number you know, if you have done it. Just another one added to those ranks, referred to statistics in the future. It's make everything seem trivial like that. The higher the number the more impacting. Though whether the number's high or not it's still a death, and the grief is no different. There's no girl to aid now, but everything must end. Though this is not an end, not a beginning, but not an end.
In-between is all that's left.
It was not me on the news. It almost was though. But I couldn't do it. I want to tell you a story. It begins with a girl, ten she was I believe. She lived on the street with her dog, nothing more. She didn't even know how she got there, she just knew that was where she was. And she didn't mind. She didn't feel like she was missing out on a proper life; how can you miss something you never had? It was as she grew older, that she got a desire for more. Not for more material things, but for knowledge. She wanted to know everything about the world, and then more. So she scrounged what books she could, spent every hour pouring through volumes. But it was never enough. There was one thing she wanted to know, one thing she could not read in books. She wanted to know what it was like to die. This thirst could not be quenched. So she climbed to the tallest building she could find, and there she stood, dangling on the edge. Feeling more than she had ever felt before. She wanted to go further, to take that one more step. But she didn't, she couldn't. So she climbed back down, returned to ground, and tempted death no further. Even though she wanted so much to, she didn't. Because she knew that things wouldn't happen unless they're meant to. The story had ended there, and it left me wondering how long she would live for after. We studied it in school once, I don't remember the name but the story remains. We were meant to look into the girls mind, delve into her emotions. And I did. Whilst people wrote lines upon lines and focussed on symbolism and metaphors, I wrote just one thing. She didn't want to die. She could've done it otherwise, she could've. I'm not so sure about that now.
Because I couldn't.