SHORT STORIES: A Letter To Clarisse

As James left the room, Clarisse spotted a crumpled ball of paper next to the basket and decide to stoop and amend the imprecision of his aim. As she picked up the ball, she saw her distorted name on the sheet, and began to straighten it out

Dear Clarisse,

Yesterday was simply marvellous! I have never felt so alive as when I stood next to you waiting for the bus home. I rerun the events of the day in my head, and see nothing but ecstasy. Meeting outside the Lion with the traffic rushing by and the sun bursting from a prison of clouds, wandering out to the canal and feeding the ducks, laying in the long grass gazing up into the endless blue. Heading back to the Lion for drinks, smiling across the table at you as you left lipstick stains all round your pint glass, hiding our giggling at the petty dramas of the people sat just across from us in hunched shoulders. Then bidding you farewell as you climbed onto the bus. At no point did my elation waver. I don’t know how to put into words how happy you made me. it’s like nothing I’ve felt before. I just thought you should know. hope to se

 

She then looked into the waste paper basket, and saw four more scraps of paper which she scooped out and read.

— –

 

For Clarisse

What  a day we passed,

should have been doomed not to last,

but felt endless in its joys,

regardless of how many pints we destroyed,

yet in the days aftermath,

looking back on the sunshine and the bridle path,

there is something i forgot to say,

I

 

Clarisse,

How can I condense the way I feel around you Clarisse? Yet what good would it do? Am I capable of such expression? Do I feel anything? Am I just an emotionless vessel? Is it a whitewash of feelings or just an intense blare of greyness? And what nonsense do I write? How can I       You are an idiot James.

 

 — 

 

My darling Clarisse

You are the sun. Your smile could end wars. Shakespeare would be jealous of your wit. You make flowers look plain. You are a vivid blast of Technicolor in this black and white city. Your eyes are deep as oceans, and bluer too. You are the essence of good. Your hands are a touch so soft there is no allusion possible. Your embrace stops everything. Your smile is  No no no!

— –

 

Clarisse,

I love you

Love James

 

— –

 

Clarisse felt as if she were on fire. She seemed to have grown and everything looked different as she followed James into the kitchen.

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