Dear Mary,
When I look back at our times together, I still imagine you sitting next to me under the moonlit sky at the bench round the corner of our favourite coffee place. There we would share an occasional kiss, where the 2.a.m silence would gift us with a romantic privacy. Funny story about the coffee place, it has turned into a bar. It has youth coming in for tequila tuesdays, and the 2.a.m. silence is no longer there as the alcohol-inspired crowds talk about their failed love stories or the game last night. Remember how we used to complain that the coffee place had horrible muffins and when we first sat across from each other, I bought you coffee and a muffin to go along. It took you a year to confess to me that you didn't like their muffins and I kept buying you them. You finished every one of them. That is how I remember you, considerate as always, eyes blue as the sky, accompanied with the shy smile that ran across your pale face, and a laugh that was unique to you, and special to me. A lot has changed since you left, I filled the emptiness with the comfort of vodka and I scribble these love letters on a napkin at this bar, where it used to be our aromatic coffee place, your head against my shoulders with acoustic guitar in the background. It has been 10 years since I saw you on the hospital bed, you would joke about the doctor's name and the nurses nose and I would sometimes sneak you out on a wheelchair for a cigarette. Maybe you would have been here longer if I hadn't gave you the cigarettes but I couldn't refuse you that freedom. You would wrap your hand around mine as I lit your stick and together we would let out the happiest sigh. I would hug you from behind and when time was on our heels I remember that teardrop caressing my forearm and I couldn't bear to let go but deep inside knew that I had to one day. On sleepless nights as such, I would come down to the bar recollect these moments one by one, share it with a passing stranger or on a napkin. Tears don't run anymore Mary, I have grown to live with you as a painful history but I cannot bear to return to the bench alone. So Mary, would you like to sit on the bench outside, it is pretty chill out there. That was how I led us into our first kiss, and I have loved you since. What I would give to sit with you on that bench again to say the words "I love you Mary" knowing you would echo with your angelic voice, "I love you John". You were the crescendo in my life and the music stopped when your heart did.
John.
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