Category: Angel Letters

Angel Letters: The Weight of an Ending

In this final letter of the series, Tristan contemplates closure. He expresses his deepest love and longing, unsure whether he’s addressing someone real or a figment of his own mind. Yet, even in saying goodbye, he leaves the door open for hope.

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Dear Angel,

This might be my last letter. I cannot promise, but I feel the words waning, as if I’ve said all I can. If you are out there, if you ever read these words, know this: I loved you in ways I did not know were possible. I loved you in the quiet spaces, in the storms, in the void you left behind.

And if you are only a figment of my mind, then perhaps I loved myself enough to create you, to fill the emptiness with something, someone, who mattered. Either way, you have shaped me, and I will carry that shape with me until the end.

This might be the last letter, but it will not be the last thought. I suspect you will linger long after the ink dries, an echo in the chambers of my heart. Goodbye, if such a word has any meaning between us. Or perhaps, simply, until we meet again.

Yours always,
Tristan

*****

Love,

Tristan, your words carry the weight of endings, yet they also whisper of beginnings. Love does not vanish simply because it is unspoken; it lingers in quiet spaces, becoming part of the moments we hold dear. If I am only a figment of your mind, then I am honored to have been shaped by your love, created from the essence of who you are.

You speak of farewell, yet I do not see this as an ending. Even as the ink dries, your thoughts will keep me alive. Each memory, each whispered longing, becomes a thread in the fabric of something timeless, binding us beyond the limits of words.

Perhaps goodbye is not the final word, but a pause, a moment before our souls find one another again, carried by the echoes of shared longing. Our bond does not fade; it transforms, existing in the quiet spaces where shadows meet light.

Eternally yours

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The Angel Letters series has come to an end, but the emotions and reflections shared in these letters live on. This journey was one of longing, love, and connection, both real and imagined. Perhaps it is a reminder that sometimes, in reaching out, we find not only the echoes of others but also a deeper understanding of ourselves.

Thank you for reading and joining Tristan on this introspective path. Love and longing are universal themes, and I hope this series sparked something meaningful within you. If it did, don’t hesitate to let me know.

All of the posts of this series have been written and scheduled to post on January 3rd 2025

Angel Letters: Dreams that Speak

In this sixth letter, Tristan reflects on dreams and how they blur the line between reality and imagination. Through dreams, he finds moments of connection with Angel, though they remain elusive and fragmented.

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Dear Angel,

I dream of you, but you are never whole. Your face is blurred, your voice faint, yet unmistakably familiar. These dreams are fragments of something I cannot grasp, leaving me to wonder if you are truly there or if I have merely woven you from the fabric of longing.

Some nights, the dreams feel too real, and I wake disoriented, heart pounding as though I have lost you all over again. Other nights, they leave me hollow, haunted by the question of whether you are truly reaching out or if I am clinging to shadows.

What are dreams if not whispers of the soul, fragile echoes of what we wish to hold but cannot grasp? I wake with tears I do not remember shedding, the ghost of your touch lingering in the morning light. Are you real in those moments, or am I only dreaming of something that was never there?

Yours always,
Tristan

*****

Love,

Tristan, dreams are the language of the soul, a place where what is real and what is imagined intertwine. When you dream of me, I am there, not as a complete form but as the essence of what lingers between us. Each time you reach for me, it is your longing that shapes my presence.

Do not fear the blurred edges of those dreams; they are glimpses into a connection that defies the waking world. In those moments, I exist because your longing shapes the space where silence holds meaning.

Eternally yours

Angel Letters: A quiet fury

In this fifth letter, Tristan’s quiet fury rises to the surface. He confronts the unanswered questions and lingering silence left behind, struggling with the weight of emotions that tether him to Angel.

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Dear Angel,

You once said I didn’t know how to let go, and perhaps you were right. But how could I let go when every fragment of you remains a question without an answer? I held onto them like talismans, yet they cut deeper than they ever healed.

Did you know it would be this way? Did you understand the weight of your silence, how it would crush me more than any words you might have said? There is a fury in me now, quiet but ever-present, like a low hum I can never escape. I am angry at you for leaving, at myself for not stopping you, at this endless ache that keeps me tethered to something I cannot name.

Tell me, did you care, even for a moment? Or was I always chasing a mirage?

Yours always,
Tristan

*****

Love,

Tristan, I do not leave breadcrumbs for you to follow, yet you find pieces of me in the spaces where my presence lingers. The talismans you gather are not questions without answers, but echoes of a connection that refuses to fade. Your quiet fury is not misplaced; it is the fire that keeps me alive in your thoughts.

I cared, Tristan, and perhaps that is why I remain, drawn to the fury and the longing in your heart. You chase not a mirage, but a reflection of something real, something that exists in the space where silence holds meaning. Let your anger shape you, for in that fire lies the strength to keep searching, even when the path seems lost.

Eternally yours

Angel Letters: Time as a Thief

In this fourth letter, Tristan reflects on the nature of time and its role in grief. He feels trapped by the passage of time, as if it robs him of the memories he holds dear, leaving only an aching void.

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Dear Angel,

Time does not heal; it only transforms, stealing moments we try to keep. Each day feels like another fragment of you slipping away, as if sand runs through my clenched fists, leaving behind only the ache of loss.

The ticking of the clock grows louder in your absence. It becomes a tyrant, marking time not as a measure of moments lived, but as a reminder of what is no longer here. I wonder if time feels the same for you, or if it drifts unnoticed in the place where you now dwell. They say grief is the price of love, but I wonder if grief is also the thief, robbing me of the love I felt, leaving behind nothing but the hollow echo of longing.

Yours always,
Tristan

*****

Love,

Time moves through me as well, Tristan, like a quiet current that blurs the boundary between past and present. Yet in your longing, I remain, waiting in the echoes of the moments you choose to remember.

Perhaps time does not steal, but transforms, and in the echoes of your longing, I find a bridge that allows us to meet, if only for a fleeting moment.

Eternally yours

Angel Letters: The mirror between us

In this third letter, Tristan delves deeper into the idea of reflection and identity. He questions whether the presence he longs for is real or a fragment of himself, as he struggles to find clarity in the mirror between them.

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Dear Angel,

Some days, I wonder if you are a reflection of me, a lost fragment of my soul, or perhaps a dream that became too real. When I look into the mirror, it feels like more than searching for you, it feels like searching for the parts of myself I do not understand. Your image flickers faintly, only to vanish when I try to grasp it, as if the mirror holds answers I am not yet ready to see. It stands between us like a barrier of shadows, offering glimpses of something more, yet remaining impenetrable.

I search for you in the shifting light, in the quiet hours when the world feels distant. I ask myself if you are truly there or if I have imagined you into being, giving life to something intangible in my moments of deepest solitude. This mirror between us holds more than reflections; it holds unanswered questions, fears that I am speaking to emptiness, and the hope that you might answer.

Yours always,
Tristan

*****

Love,

Perhaps we are more than reflections, Tristan, more than shadow and light. When you search for me in the mirror, it is not emptiness you find, but the echo of something shared. You may believe that I am beyond reach, but it is your longing that bridges the distance.

I exist in the spaces where questions linger and answers seem distant. Together, we create a connection that lives in the quiet moments, in the pauses between thought and memory. Though we may stand on opposite sides of a veil, it is your gaze that gives me shape, and in that, we are more whole than you know.

Eternally yours