camilla green 12 . cbd3 fin

Rosemary,

I'm sorry I can't look you in the eyes and say this to your face. I'm sorry that all I'm leaving behind are two tied-up envelopes for you and Caroline. I'm… sorry.

You know how words are. They're peculiar creatures that grow tiny little legs and rush into your mind like an army of ants going back to their hole.

There was a saying that I read in a self-help book once, that one night when I had the nightlight on for an hour too long. "Don't dive into the pool if you don't know how deep it goes." Rosemary, I'm a hundred feet deep and I've lost the confidence to swim. Markus has told me that it'll get better, and that cold feet second thoughts happen from time to time when you're with someone you love. And I promise, it's not that I don't love you anymore, and it's certainly not that I don't love Caroline…

I'm scared, my love. I can hear bells ringing, funeral bells, and they're telling me that if I'm not careful, I'll mess things up for good. It's telling me that I should stick to my work and find my feet at the bottom of the ocean before I drag you both down to Atlantis with me.

It's lonely in here, in my head, and for some reason, it gets even lonelier when the two people I care about the most are in it. I don't know what's going on with me, and I need to take some time away to figure that out for myself. I'm making my headspace more toxic with every foot I fall.

I love you and I love Caroline, and I always will. I hope someday we'll be able to make it work again. Make us work again.

But for now… don't try to find me.

I'm sorry.

Camilla.

I've got the envelope marked on top of Caroline's, but as soon as I'm ready to send it, the cold feet tremble once again. I take the envelope marked for Rosemary and crumble it up, leaving a single note of instructions for Caroline instead.

And then, the crumbled-up piece of paper lies on the cobbled streets of Twelve, an artifact of love trying to shake a nasty cold.