Ink before dawn [Part 2]
Belle had missed the delivery on the day the next letter arrived, she had spent the day in the forest collect berries and just taking in all that the God’s surrounded them with, the beauty the unknown. She once enjoyed the time alone but since her days gad grown cold and dark, the happiness that allowed the light the shine through casted out by nothing but shadows now.
Reaching the bakery and walking in to supplies on her table, she at first didn’t notice the letter, not until the rolled up scroll rolled off a crate and onto the floor. Catching it out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but to be hopeful. Picking it up and taking it out onto the porch where she sat and read it. Her mind really began to race. Who was this man, where did she meet him. How could she respond to him?
She sat back in the chair and for the first time in a very long time she felt the sunshine on her face, the warmth of the kiss of the sun. Closing her eyes to enjoy it for the moment as she held the letter in her hand and a soft smile curled upon her lips.
This will be the last one.
Or at least, that’s what I’ve tell myself everytime.
It’s strange — how a person you only casually met can become a thread woven through your every season. You, who never asked for this.
And yet, I’ve written to you. Not because I believed I had the right, but because I didn’t know how else to keep this feeling alive. Writing has been my only way of holding truth still long enough to see it clearly.
But now, I find myself wanting more.
Not more letters. More courage.
Strange that this is what is missing. I can face a knife without trembling. And yet when I think of meeting you. I don’t know if that frightens me or sets me free. What I do know is this: if someday — perhaps soon — you find a man standing quietly nearby, hands tucked nervously into his belt, watching the flowers near the bakery or a small gathering near the long hall… that may be me.
I’m not asking for anything. Not your heart. Not even your attention. Only the chance to exist without shadows. To let you know that all of this — the ink, the ache, the wonder — came from somewhere real.
Until then, I remain —
Still anonymous, for now. But not for long – so I tell myself.
A merchant comes grinning to the baker stall. “Well Belle, you seem to have an admirer.” he jested totally unaware of the content of the letters. But it was getting the attention of some that these letters with the blue ribbon became more frequent. “This was given with great urgency. The child that brought it even asked if the one that was delivered earlier could be taken and replaced. Of course I would not do such a thing.” he shook his head “I even think the child might have been mistaken. As it was unsure from which the order and this letter came.” He would give the letter. As always the same blue ribbon tied it together. When you unfurl it a small flower that seemed to have been pressed within it falls to the floor.
My Dearest,
I just hope this letter will be more quick—rushed by winds, hurled across distance with the speed of lightning—so it may find you before hesitation catches me once again. If there is any God who peers down upon me with some affection, I pray it guides this message to you before my previous one will.
For I was a fool to even suggest that my last letter would be final. How can it be, when I cannot stop? I cannot stop writing, cannot stop breathing you into every silent space I occupy. My heart refuses to forget. It longs for that brief moment, that single glance that left me weightless and wanting.
You’ve undone me. I never knew these feelings before. This sensation of being adrift and yet more myself than I have ever been. To be both found and lost in the same breath. To be so thoroughly captivated and yet uncertain. You are like some delicate bloom growing wild in an untamed meadow too lovely to pluck, too rare to risk fading.
And who am I to even reach? Not one of those refined southern men with words that charm like wine, nor a northern giant whose strength could silence doubt. I have neither finesse nor force. Only this, this small moment in this quiet corner of the world where I write to you and pretend, to be the man I wish I could be.
Ever yours in silence, but I keep writing.
Ps. Next time I will try and sent something pretty. But I first need to obtain it.
As the merchant approached she hoped it would be, then she saw the letter with the blue ribbon, just like the one she began to tie her hair with. A smile beamed from ear to ear as her eyes danced with happiness. With a raised brow she looked at the man when he spoke “urgency you say” she then looked down to the letter then back up to him “if you would wait, I have one to return to where this came from. Please I dont know if you know but I have to at least try.. just one moment and ill be back.” She quickly hurried off to the bakery where she read the letter, her heart began to flutter briefly as she read it. Quickly setting it off to the side and began to write one back.. a chance she had to take, a slim chance knowing nothing! With the dried flower close she began
To the the man who broke the darkness,
This is a long shot, not knowing who you are or where you are or even what you look like. But its a chance I have to take. Sending you words of my own.
You’ve taken the darkest of days and beamed your ray of light down upon me, brightening everything I do, shinning so bright.
I’ve found myself watching not to see if a letter is to be delivered. Feeling my cold heart filled woth warmth each time it does. My eyes scan the docks, the hall, the paths to see if someone is standing there. But nothing! I’ve found myself hugging myself tightly as I stand on the edge of a cliff looking oht and over it. Even though it be my arms i long for yours.
Come to me, tell me whom you are, I beg of you
Becoming yours, Belle
Rolling it back up and knowing the same blue bow around it, this time though taking a pink flower from the bakery walk and tucking it in tightly as she ran to the merchant and handing it to him..”Give this to the man who’s been giving you mine, or how ever its been happening, pleade I beg you” then reached in and handed him a few coin hoping it would help.
Some time later …
The boy gripped the letter loosely, yet with caution. He hadn’t dared read it—of course not—but something in the way it had been folded made it feel alive and special. He couldn’t explain it, only that it seemed with something heavier than words: hope, maybe, or sorrow tucked between the lines. He didn’t know who the sender was, but he knew—deep in his chest—that something inside this paper mattered. And so he had rushed to the bakery as his father had explained that this letter was to be delivered immediately. “Miss Belle!” the boy called, his voice bright against the hush of the afternoon. “There’s another one,” he added, holding the letter like something sacred and strange. He didn’t move, only stood there with wide eyes. “There’s something in it,” he whispered then, as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. A secret, maybe. Or a heart, carefully folded. As the scroll would be unfurled a small gem fell out of it. Not the kind one would often see. Surely something precious.
My Ray of Light,
As I sat to write you, fate intervened—I was handed a letter. Strange, perhaps, but before I even unfolded it, I lifted it to my face, hoping against hope for that familiar fragrance I so vividly remember. Foolish, I know. The merchant who brought it had no knowledge of the precious cargo he carried. It bore instead the scent of sweat and suls. Yet if words had a scent, if ink could carry the essence of meaning, I’d be intoxicated by the very first breath of yours.
Still, the moment made me smile, like a boy triumphant in his first battle, convinced now he will conquer the very world he walks upon. I remember that boy. I remember his vision, the golden future he believed in. I am not that man – I wished to become. But perhaps one day I’ll find the courage to tell you the story of the shadows, the storms and quests. I only wonder… will your light dim if I offer the truth of my darkness?
Tonight, in the hush between heartbeats, I picture you. I see you on that cliffside, arms around yourself as the wind tries to steal your warmth. And from where I sit, I ache to close the space between us—to fold you in my arms and whisper to your ears that you are safe, you are cherished. For as long as I may, I will treasure you.
Ask anything of me, and I shall obey. But this—this confession—is the one task I tremble to complete. To tell you who I am beyond these letters… that frightens me. For never before have I spoken so truthfully, so deeply. And what becomes of a man, once his heart has been so gently, yet so entirely, stolen?
Yours in silent awe, — Anonymous
Ps. This gem was the first thing I ever truly won. It is something one can not give to anyone but the one that is more precious then the gem itself.
Crows Murder 
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