To my love,
It is difficult to find the words…
To my dearest Endymion,
I would like to begin with I’m sorry, but I fear it could not come close to what I need to say…
I miss you. These aren’t nearly the words you deserve to hear, but I haven’t a clue what those words should be. ‘I am sorry’ doesn’t seem to mean enough. But, it’s all I can say. So I’ll say it.
I’m sorry. From the deepest recesses of my heart, or wherever it is my love stems from, I’m sorry. For all the life and existence of me, I’m sorry. For every second I’m without you, I’m sorry. For all the apologies you’ll never hear, I’m sorry. And for all the words I’ve never said, I’m sorry.
You must understand, it was never my intention to cause you pain. It was because of this that I shielded my true nature from you. But that doesn’t matter now. Much doesn’t matter now. And that’s why I’m here, writing a letter you’ll never read for the sole purpose of finally suffering through the penance I don’t deserve.
I never should have let it get so far, but I am a selfish creature by nature and can offer no further explanation. If I’m being truthful, something I am striving to do, I was enthralled by your simple, mortal existence, and by your otherworldly beauty, somewhere between that of the humans I watched and the Gods I was raised by. For you, it was a deadly combination for which you cannot be blamed.
In our beginnings, a time you know not of, I was good. I only watched you when my duties allowed me, merely imagining the days where you would herd the flock outside when the sun, ever the harlot, provided you with the light to do so. Each night I would watch you sleep, and dread that heartless sun’s return. Until that very instant, I would dream wonderful dreams of you, and hoped it was me that played center stage in yours.
But how could you? You knew nothing of me: not my name, or my face. I was only the round pest in the sky to you, and that’s all I would ever be. If there is a heart in this body of mine, which seems likely, given the ache where it should lie, it broke. It broke every day you did not share in its affections. And it will continue to break every day that you do not know me.
When my dreams failed to satisfy me anymore, I visited you, letting the nights stretch longer with each one and warding off the sun so I would never have to leave. I failed to see what I had done to you for a long time, convincing myself that what I was doing was right. By the time I realized the gravity of the situation I’d caused, it was too late.
My kiss had cursed you. I shouldn’t have been so surprised; I am a cursed being, cursed by my own birth to watch mortals only in their nightly death. I’m reluctant to say that you succumbed to this nightly death in its most literal form. An eternal sleep. One that, I am loathe to admit, will never be undone. If it could by true love’s kiss, a concept I have heard much of from you mortals, you would have woken long ago and every night I visit you, because, though I will vow to do anything for you, I’m afraid leaving you never crosses my mind.
I am a selfish creature. I always have been and I always will be. And, though I will always yearn for your waking, so I may beg your forgiveness and your love, it is enough for me to have you while you sleep. It may not always, but, for now, having you this way is better than suffering through another night without you, a hell I am far too familiar with.
I’ve decided I will write to you often. Even if it’s only to express the depth of my love for you, I can pretend you’re listening, and that is the first comfort I’ve felt in a long time. Before I leave, I’ll even express it again. I love you. I always will.