The Second Letter

Dear A,

    Sombre. That is the word that rests on my shoulders each day, ever since I learned you were choosing a path that would no longer run beside mine. But today, that heaviness pressed down more than usual, sharper and more unrelenting.

    I attended a friend’s wedding. It was held in a hall so grand it felt as though I had stepped into a dream. The theme was an elegant garden. The altar, made of clear glass, opened to a view of lush greenery, soft and still, as if the world had paused in reverence. Everything shimmered with a quiet magic, like a page torn from a story too beautiful to belong to this world.

    And there I was - a single figure among many, surrounded by the soft hum of laughter and conversation, by hands held and glances shared. I am no stranger to solitude, but moments like this sharpen its shape until it feels almost cruel. I sat at a table set far from the altar and watched in silence as the wedding montage began.

    The screen lit up with memories. Images of the couple, from childhood to now, their lives braided gently together in each photograph. I smiled, because their story spoke of kindness, of a shared life carefully tended. But as the images moved forward, my thoughts pulled away.

    Without meaning to, I imagined your story instead. In the quiet space of my heart, I placed your photographs beside mine. A life that might have been. My chest grew tight. My throat closed. And I was reminded once again that whatever future unfolds for you, I will not be in it.

    That realisation came like a tide. I am genuinely happy for my friends - those who marry, who build homes, who find warmth in one another. But I cannot ignore the quiet truth that lingers beneath; we are the same age yet their lives feel worlds apart from mine. They move forward while I stand still, watching from the edge. When the caterer asked twice if I had come alone, I smiled politely, but the question echoed for hours after.

And then, again, came you.

    The thought of your wedding, your own montage, your own altar - threatens to unmake me. In less than four months, the day will arrive. No matter how I prepare myself, I know I will not be ready. I will never be ready to watch you belong to someone else.

    As I sat there, the garden setting seemed to mock me. The soft wind through the trees, the hush of leaves, the gentle light slipping through branches. All of it reminded me of you. These are the places you have always loved. You find beauty in the quietest things. This would have been your sanctuary. And for a moment, I let myself imagine you there, standing at that altar. The thought alone was unbearable.

    Perhaps this is why I have wept so often at night since the news reached me. There is a sorrow lodged deep in my chest that no sleep can ease. A grief so piercing that even a blade might seem kinder than this ache I carry now.

    Without meaning to, I have begun to fear weddings. Today was the start of that. Each future celebration will carry with it the shadow of this one, and the reminder that love - for me - has become something lost. Something that once reached for me but slipped away.

Today was truly a sombre day.

Yours,

H