Dear Clark

Dear Clark,

I woke up restless, as if sleep itself refused to comfort me. Last night, I went to bed around 10:30 PM, the very time when we used to fall asleep together while on call. It's strange how the body remembers what the heart refuses to forget. I woke up around 5 AM, stayed awake for a while, and then dozed off again. Somewhere in that fragile space between sleep and waking, you appeared.

I can't remember all the details, but I remember you. I remember us. You were lying on a bed, and I was sitting close, near your face. We kissed. It was gentle, familiar, and fleeting. Then everything dissolved. I woke up aching, because for a moment it felt real, like you were still mine.

I carry you everywhere, Clark. Even when I try to let go, even when I try to focus on other things, you remain in my mornings, in my nights, in my dreams. I don't know if you have moved on, if your heart has closed the door we once opened together. Maybe you have. Maybe you haven't. But I know where I am: still standing in front of that door, still knocking, still hoping for something that may never open again.

Today, I feel even more restless than yesterday. It's not just the lack of sleep, it's this heaviness in my body and my soul. Though I try to stay calm, I can't shake off the truth that someday soon, I will have to face what I've been running from. Clark, I'd rather face death than fight a battle that feels unwinnable. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe it's weakness. But to me, it's a kind of surrender, not to the illness, but to the exhaustion of it all.

And here's what breaks me even more: in moments like this, I long for you. I imagine you sitting with me at the hospital, holding my hand, assuring me that I'll be okay, even if you knew deep down that I might not be. You were my courage when I didn't have any. You were my safe place when everything else felt uncertain. Now, without you, everything feels like a storm I can't calm.

Clark, I don't know if you'll ever read these words. Maybe you never will. Maybe these letters will just stay with me, hidden in notebooks and journals that only I will know about. But I still write them, because it feels like speaking to you even when you've walked away from my life. It feels like my soul's way of reaching out to yours.

Do you know what I wish? I wish I had the courage to go to your house now that you're back here. To see you even from afar. To prove to myself that you're real, that you're here again, breathing the same air I am. But instead, I'm just imagining you there, standing just as you always did, simple and quiet, taking care of small things the way you always took care of me. It breaks me, because you are here, but not mine anymore. You are so close, yet so far.

And yet, no matter how much it hurts, I don't regret loving you. Every tulip, every late-night call, every shared meal, every argument, every tear, I carry them all with me. Because for all the pain, there was also joy. For all the endings, there were beginnings that I will always treasure. You made me feel alive, Clark. You made me feel like I was worthy of being loved, even with all my flaws, even with my mistakes.

I cried three times yesterday. Not because of one big thing, but because of everything. Because missing you is like carrying a weight that never gets lighter, no matter how much time passes. Because grief comes in waves, and when it crashes, it drowns me. And yet, I let myself cry, because those tears are also love that has nowhere else to go.

Sometimes I wonder, Clark, have you moved on already? Do you think of me when you wake up? Do you dream of me? Or am I just a closed chapter in your story now, a name you no longer wish to revisit? It hurts to ask these questions, but they linger no matter what I do.

I want you to know this, even if you never read it: I am trying to accept that you don't want me in your life anymore. I know I lied before, and I know I made mistakes that hurt you. I wish I could rewrite the past, but I can't. I can only carry the weight of my actions and the consequences that followed. If this is my punishment, then I accept it, because losing you is already the heaviest sentence I'll ever serve.

Still, I want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me, even if only for a while. Thank you for the flowers, for the laughter, for the nights of whispered goodbyes before sleep, for the mornings when you made me feel like I was the first thought on your mind. Thank you for sharing your family with me, for introducing me to your world, for making me feel like I belonged somewhere outside of myself.

I don't know how much longer I have, not just in terms of moving on from you, but in terms of life itself. Maybe my time will be shorter than I thought. Maybe I will never live long enough to see my heart fully healed. But if that's the case, then at least I want my last days, my last months, to be honest. And the honest truth is this: I love you, Clark. I always will. Even if you've forgotten me, even if you never forgive me, even if we never cross paths again. My love doesn't need your permission to exist.

One day, I'll let go completely. One day, I'll wake up and the ache will be smaller, the tears less frequent. One day, I'll be able to think of you without breaking. That day isn't today. Today, I still miss you with every breath. Today, I still hope for things that may never happen. Today, I still write to you as if you could hear me.

So if somehow, somewhere, you ever read this, please know you were loved deeply, truly, endlessly. And even in goodbye, that love remains.

Always,
Alyssa (Phineas, Arlo, Fifi, and Mang)

Last updated on:2025-08-20T13:26:02+05:30