#with ending

Well, is there, Dave?

He couldeasily uphold life’s reservations by tossing names of dearly departed friendsand love ones or by simply conjuring a faceless name to sate the undoubtedly dry – to be conversation. Chances of himreceiving another letter of sorts had gone slim to none with his seeminglyendlessly plethora of excuses. Not that they were all lies, but most of themwere truly spent aimlessly locked up in a four – cornered unit with enoughsustenance, to his thinking, and a bountiful supply of the finest cocaine arockstar could ever want and need. Whetherit was in the comfort of his humble abode or elsewhere that the sun would notreach, the Duke, at the time, found solace in this unlikely favorablelifestyle.

But ofcourse, that would spoil the charming façade of the ever vulnerable soul, lostin an abysmal fear of … Well, love and affection. Ergo, the Duke opted todisregard the letter for the time being.

***

Laterthat evening amidst the litter of crumpled paper, empty bottles, and carelesslydiscarded leather shoes and cotton socks, was David.

Davidwhose hair was tousled with frustrated intent, all but a few sticking upward asif they’ve been pulled relentlessly for hours. Sleeves unevenly rolled up toeach elbow that had marked their weight onto the now folded documents on the desk;the now diluted glass of a Bruichladdich 10 Year Old scotch; and a notearticulately written by none other.

It reads,

Dear Anon,

Your query has put me in such a pickle thewhole day that I’ve forgotten the most of the lyrics during rehearsals. Avawasn’t pleased and the band thought I’m overdoing it. Whether the drugs or workhours, I couldn’t tell – Ha! But anyway, off to answer your question!

There never would be a day that I would notmiss anyone, love. Whether it’s family or friends back home, there’d always besomeone. I wish it was just that; family and friends cause you know they’d missyou too and all these feelings of longing for wouldn’t be in vain. But somehow,there’d always be that one person you just miss the most among the lot, yeah?

We’ve had loads of fun, my baby and I. Weonce spent hours just staring at the night sky like a couple of loonies. I hadto pretend I know just about everything so my baby wouldn’t get tired of talkingto me. Have you ever done that? Just lie through your teeth to keep theconversation going, hoping it’ll never end? Hoping the sun would just take aday off or sort? Ha! Ha!

We’d take turns making dinner and laundry,and the best part? Lazy days in pyjamas slinging choccies onto the furnace! Ha!Ha!

We never fought much either. Of the manythat I’ve been with; dated, slept or the lot, we never fought. Not over whereto eat or where to go; what to wear or who to spend time with, never. I wouldn’ttrust myself as much, but my baby did. And I miss that. I miss that I don’thave to change for anyone or anything. Yeah, that’s what I miss.

But like all, I miss the sex too. Funnythat I say that, we held each other more than we fucked. I think he took outthe Duke in me, don’t you? Ha! Ha! I think I really fell hard this time, yeah?You know, to actually miss someone.

Too much of a ramble for a simple question.Ha! My bad.

But yes, love, I do miss someone. I misssomeone terribly that I’ve filled the bin with redos and unfinished lettersthat could very much pass for a song. A song that neither you or my baby, oranyone, would probably hear. But this’d be our little secret, yeah? :-^-)

I’ve probably taken up much of your timewith petty rambling; you best be on your way. And as for me I suppose I shouldtell them this instead of writing all of it to a complete stranger, no?Remember, ‘tis our little secret.

Should you ever write again, I’ll let youin on the reply. That is... If I ever decide to tell . . . . . .”

With atimid snort, David wakes with a blistering hangover pounding his temples withhate. Grunting in complaint as willed himself to rise, he clambered off thedesk and tore the paper off his facethat conveniently covered whatappears to be the most pertinent information(name) on the letter.

Headingtowards the bedroom, the discarded paper falls airlessly onto the floor; pushedby its motion under the desk and never to be seen again.

Exceptfor the cleaning lady who knows all the juicy bits.