Some dreams are made of this...

Tweet

My fingers caressed the sheaf of envelopes lovingly tied with hemp string, a sprig of lavender snug in between. I could not bring myself to open these letters. To open these letters would be to spread the wound a bit further. I needn't bother with opening them anyhow, I knew what was written within. I could recite them verbatim if I chose to do so. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up a picture of his face. It had been so long since I'd seen him. Since my father had found us out and locked me in my room. Since my servant girl had whispered that he was long gone, sent away by my daddy. It was a sign of mercy. In those days no one would have batted an eye if he had killed one of his own slaves. Daddy wouldn't talk to me for a long time after that. He hadn't let me out of my room for a week. When I was out, he wouldn't look at me, wouldn't even acknowledge I was there, sitting across from him at every meal. No one would acknowledge me. I walked around the yard, trying to find someone to tell me where my beau had gone, but they only greeted me when prodded and never answered any of my questions. "That's none of your concern now." Now it's been years and my daddy's gone. Died of consumption just last month. The plantation sits in disarray. I've been told that it's now owned by one of daddy's long lost cousins, but he's not shown up yet. I don't care anyhow, the only thing I care about is finding my beau. I know he's probably married now, possibly a free man. Just like all the slaves that were here. As soon as daddy died I freed them. Told them to run off, get gone. Some stayed though, the more loyal. Now we sat here and just lived as best we could. Based off of a dream I had. Some of this I've had to "fill in" and honestly? This isn't even the end of the dream. I don't think I will keep writing on it though. It seems too personal.. too.. heartbreaking.