I am still in this stage of free writing to allow all the drivel to spill out without judgement. But I was inspired by the weekly prompt, The Unsent, and added a short letter into a scene I had been playing with. It's a bit of nonsense but fun nonsense :). Here goes some of it:
Dear Olivier
By the time you read this you will be back home, far from the screeching of London buses and glare of taxis lined up in the rain. You’ll be breathing mountain air, perhaps not missing the terrible coffee and sweaty, stifling trains. I imagine you've been to see Julia, perhaps she gave you some eggs from her hens or potatoes from her garden.
You will also, no doubt, be continuing to ‘settle the affairs’ of Michel, compiling all the information on his assets, his liabilities, all the many taxes due. I hope you get to spend some more time in his white house, bathing your soul in its tranquillity, soaking up the views of the mountains and drinking in the peace that it offers.
I hope you can forgive me for not showing up tonight, and that you didn’t wait too long out in the cold. Perhaps for you it wasn’t cold, coming from a place where you shovel snow in winter just to get out the door. Even so. You may be thinking I owe you an explanation, and maybe you are right. But even if I could understand myself what drove me to walk left towards the station that night instead of straight ahead, I’m not sure it would help. After all, what is there to understand when perhaps what drove me was made of years, if not generations, of tiny hurts and disappointments, that have settled in, like weeds, growing deeper and thicker as time goes on?