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A Letter to My Dearest Achlys

A Letter to My Dearest Achlys

My Dearest Achlys,

Don’t resent me too much. I won’t try to sound all dark and gloomy—that is not my role anymore. Forgive my penchant for somber words; that is not the impression I was trying to make.

Through this epistle of mine, I hope this reaches you in the midst of good health and peace. See? Didn’t I tell you I mean well? Pleasantries aren’t my thing, but I can make an exception for you, old friend. So please bear with me, for this may be quite long.

Terrified is an understatement for what I feel as I jot down these remarks. I thought I had everything I wanted to say prepared like a map, yet all I have are distorted realities inside my head. But right now, I am afraid my words will only be a jumbled mess of undecipherable connotations. There is so much to say that I don’t even know where to begin. I could say I’ve missed you, Achlys, but I can no longer lie to you or myself more than I already have.

My heart whisper praises unto your name, but my mind would rather condemn you to death. Maybe it is my fears and insecurities talking. Even someone like me knows that that is not something to joke about. Despite that, if I were to be sincere, I’d say I don’t want anything to do with you in a heartbeat.

Remember when you used to think how cliché it was for people to say they were great pretenders and claim to be the masters of deception. Funny, I think you mastered both. The mask seemed like a necessity now, in a way that people can no longer live without it. Why is it so easy to lie and pretend but too damn hard to be true to oneself?

I always refer to you as the dark one when in reality, it was me. I was darkness. And I hated how envious I was of you. You were the good student, the obedient offspring, so prim and proper all the time, and the goody-two-shoes. It was annoying to look at; you were a sight for sore eyes. Now, as I look back, I realize that what I loathed was not the fact that you, Achlys, were more outstanding than me. No. It is the reality of the things you remind me of—someone I’ve forgotten for a while, which I used to be.

There are perks to being stoic and cold all the time. I was once too scared to show any signs of emotion. Perceived as weakness, as a pain, a hassle, I didn’t bother with it. But then it gets heavier, like carrying a massive boulder of suppressed feelings I wouldn’t show. I’ve learned how liberating it was, to be honest with myself finally. So now, whenever I think of you, I feel old wounds opening up. I won’t lie; writing this letter is a slap to my face hurting me more than it should. My thoughts of you always leave me with unbearable pain and regret of what-ifs and what could have been. I have long wondered when this endless, silent turmoil will end.

Forgive me, Achlys, for exposing you like this. This isn’t how I imagined it would turn out. Under different circumstances, I would have presented you better as you deserve. I know how reticent and silent you are, that when people look at me now, I am sure your remaining traces are slowly fading like the ink on parchment. No matter how much I say I hate you, it doesn’t change that you know me better than anyone and I to you. But why is it that the more I know, the more that I don’t understand myself? I guess I’ll try and figure it out for myself soon. I want to thank you for everything that I am today. It wouldn’t turn out the way I did without your hard work. You know, we are similarly different. We are one, after all.

Soon, I would like to introduce you to someone special that I forgot to mention. They are someone that I’ve been dying for us to meet. I’ve never met them yet, but I am getting to know them a little better.

The shortest distance between people is a story, and the way we name ourselves is a declaration of who we are.

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How do you introduce yourself to someone you’ve never met? My dear friend, when we finally make out a future for ourselves and decide to do better in life, I would like you to meet another friend you would either hate or love. And I know from the bottom of my hypothalamus that you will adore them because I will make sure that they are everything we are not. They will be everything we hoped we’ll be. She goes by the name Lai.

You have nothing to fear now, Achlys. Everything will eventually into its destined place. You have done well, and I am proud of you. The last years have taught me to love even what I found ugly about myself. I wish you had that same luxury, but all I can assure you now is how I’m going to live this life with no regrets. Thank you, Achlys. You are loved.

Love,

Umbra

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