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Oct. 17th, 2021 01:24 pmIt takes him hours to write it out. Dr. Fuller told him it would probably be helpful, even if Caleb believed Adam would never receive it, to write out everything he was thinking and feeling about their relationship. He feels like a coward. How is this any different than texting someone? It's not, is the thing. But he can't text Adam. He's tried.
He asks Rosie to read it over. Maybe that's stupid, or rude, or... fuck, he doesn't know. But he needs to know he doesn't sound crazy, or weak, or like a fucking asshole. This is the best he can do.
Caleb brings the letter to the Mailbox, crinkling it between his fingers in the envelope that doesn't have a stamp, or an address. Just Adam's name, and a whole lot of wrinkles. He stares down at it, stomach twisting. He still doesn't know if this is even going to work, or if it's just an exercise for his own peace of mind. He isn't sure it even matters.
"I love you, Adam," he whispers to the envelope. Then he grabs the door on the Mailbox and pulls it open. He drops the envelope in, then releases the handle, letting it swing shut with a squeaky clang.
His eyes sting, but he walks away without crying, heading back to his car. He wants to go back to the apartment and just sort of sit with his feelings about this, but maybe that's not the wisest idea. He needs to stay out in the air, and maybe interact with people, so he doesn't get dragged down by his own sadness.
He heads to the boardwalk, instead, and lets himself get swept away by people's feelings. It's probably not better than sitting with his feelings and processing what he's done, but it feels safer, at least.
He asks Rosie to read it over. Maybe that's stupid, or rude, or... fuck, he doesn't know. But he needs to know he doesn't sound crazy, or weak, or like a fucking asshole. This is the best he can do.
Caleb brings the letter to the Mailbox, crinkling it between his fingers in the envelope that doesn't have a stamp, or an address. Just Adam's name, and a whole lot of wrinkles. He stares down at it, stomach twisting. He still doesn't know if this is even going to work, or if it's just an exercise for his own peace of mind. He isn't sure it even matters.
"I love you, Adam," he whispers to the envelope. Then he grabs the door on the Mailbox and pulls it open. He drops the envelope in, then releases the handle, letting it swing shut with a squeaky clang.
His eyes sting, but he walks away without crying, heading back to his car. He wants to go back to the apartment and just sort of sit with his feelings about this, but maybe that's not the wisest idea. He needs to stay out in the air, and maybe interact with people, so he doesn't get dragged down by his own sadness.
He heads to the boardwalk, instead, and lets himself get swept away by people's feelings. It's probably not better than sitting with his feelings and processing what he's done, but it feels safer, at least.
