22nd March
To a kindred soul,
I write to you nursing what can only be described as a broken heart. I am afraid to say that the combination of residual feelings and inebriation got the better of me last night (I was temporarily off the wagon but more on that later) and I enjoyed a late night tryst with my beloved. We talked at length before and ever the aforementioned event and are in agreement that our passionate encounter was ill advised. However, my confessions of love were reciprocated by the object of my affection so the aching in my chest comes from regret at the situation in which I find myself, not ay ill treatment at the hands of my beloved. My pride was whisked away by a stream of vodka which had an effect similar to, I would imagine, extra strength truth serum; during a lengthy embrace with my love I confessed that I could in fact hold him "for the rest of my life" which, fortunately did not send him running for the hills but did waive any opportunity to pass the evenings events off as a drunken fumble.
I am burdened with an inescapable pain in my chest and am permanently hovvering on the brink of tears. In my most fanciful momemnts I am tempted to suggest a reunion; an idea concieved more as an oppurtunity to simply allow our passion to be confronted and then to burn out than from any certainty that a relationship between us could actually work out. However, my heart may subject to fancy but my head i rooted firmly within the reality of the situation which is that (apologies to Emily Bronte) I have broken my own heart, I knew the consequences of my actions and instead of heeding my own doubts and those of all those whose advice I had previously sought on the situation I parted freely with reason and allowed myself to be overtaken by passion.
I have to see him again tonight as we are to attend the pub quiz; as is the Sunday night tradition for "The Daves", and pretend that all is as it was before. I fear that I shall be overcome with emotion upon sight of him and spend the entire night struggling not to weep, indeed I weep as I recount this to you. I thought finally getting what I had dreamed of for months would at last make me happy, it is true that in those moments with my love I was less unhappy than I was before but it would appear that the trade-off was the pit of self pity and heartbreak in which I am now installed. It would appear that no measure of rationality is any match for the feelings which **** and I harbour for one another, I am resigned to the fact that (Emily is probably spinning in her grave at this point) my love for him is eternal, like the rocks beneath.
Last night saw me consume alcohol for the first time in two weeks; I have decided to overlook this indiscretion as heart is already so full of regret, but I am once again tee - total today, last night having served as proof that nothing good comes from the Chloe/vodka/diet coke cocktail.I am saddened to report that it has come to my attention that my father has begun smoking again after three years free of the evil weed. I worryfor his health Hannah as he is not getting any younger and I could not bear to lose him, it would appear that the stress from his work life has caused him to seek solace in B&H and although he is a man after my own heart it does break my heart that he now feels the need to smoke after previously, it would appear, having conquered his addiction.
I am sorry that my latest message has not been more cheerful dear friend and I sincerely hope that your day has not been darkened upon reading it.
Please tell me about your latest suitor in excruciating detail - it heartens my to know that we are not both completely unlucky in love.I was also thrilled to hear of your tan! My attempts to emulate what is no doubt the very fetching hue which you are now sporting has left several pounds (£s - if only...) lighter, unflatteringly streaked and with the faint aroma of digestives.
I shall leave you at this point darling girl as it would do no good to regale you with my woes for any longer, moreover I am under obligation to look nothing short of perfect at the pub quiz, for obvious reasons, and will need all of the next 45 minutes to attend to my appearance.
Love always,
Chloe.xxxxxxx
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