one last letter

             Even though she was a perfect woman, I am certain that this first female in existence, Eve, was not more beautiful than you. And surely her perfect lover, Adam—the man who gave up his perfection and thus his life for a mere piece of fruit from his wife’s hands—could by no means have loved Eve as much as I love you. I’ve said it enough, tried so hard to make you understand what a burden such emotion is, but you believe only a fraction of what I speak. There is no exaggeration. It is a love that consumes me, poisons my body. How it sickens me to discover that I have come to hate a man simply because he makes you happy. I understand how wrong this is. But really, who can be happy while looking into the eyes of his killer so that he embraces him, thanks the one causing his death? Not I. Certainly not I. But what am I without your love? Nothing. Yet, what would I be if I were to tear you from your symbolical “Adam”? A serpent, a monster—wicked. Pure despised evil. I would much rather be dead than a monster in your life. So, please, take this as my last letter, my goodbye. Too much pain and trouble I’ve caused—never again will I utter these words to you and so hard I’ll try to never again utter them to myself.

Farewell,

            The one who loved you more than life