I lay here, as ever, with his hands gripping into me. These past few months have been tense; his hands sweat more, when he pours over his papers his writing is harsh and jagged, not the confident swoop I remember. He forgets the coasters he was once so fastidious about, and lets the candles burn all the way down, wax spilling over and settling where it will.
I’m afraid, beloved, that my visage is not what it once was. The wax aside, I have acquired many bumps and gashes these long years. As his frustration has mounted, he is given toward fits of rage. One dark night I was awoken to him wailing ‘NeinNeinNein‘ and beating me with a fire poker. Yes, these are hard times, but I feel the end may be near. He seems resigned to his fate; he wanders the room listlessly, barely giving his once proud maps the merest of glances.
She has not come to visit in many months. The last time she came into this room she leaned against me casually, letting the ashes fall from the tip of her slim cigarette; they felt like a ghost’s kiss. She asked him some innocuous question and he turned his famous glare on her. Danger lay in the air, but she either ignored it or failed to realize. She asked again when it would all return to normal and he exploded. I had often seen him practice dynamics for his speeches, but this was the first time I saw him lose control of his emotions. He screamed at her, hurling insults, curses, berating her as a flighty broad and unworthy of his presence. She fled this room crying her eyes out, holding her hands to her ears lest she hear anymore. I have not seen her since.
That tirade was the first of many over the coming months. He took to drinking or, rather, drinking took him. Consumed, would be a better word. He drank as though the answer to his malady lay at the bottom of a bottle. He knew he had spread himself too thin, but did not know which front to abandon in order to regroup. He began to doubt himself, my love, and this is where we have found ourselves.
I can feel the reverberations of the bombings through my feet, and I wonder how it will feel when the end comes. I have seen much since I was brought into his company; the letters, the passion, the fortune, the crumbling. At times I, like he, felt invincible, in the presence of a deity. Each signature sealed our legend, each meeting solidified our position in the world. In hindsight, I can see where it started to disintegrate. He read those letters in this room, scrawled their responses right here. His eyes were too big for his stomach and, like a spoiled child, he filled his plate anyway. This, darling, was the downfall.
The bombs feel closer, liebling. I don’t want you to wonder if there was suffering. We must all face our fate one day. In fact, he just chose his moments ago. The loud crack still rings in the still air, so I suppose we are both to perish alone. I leave you here, my love, with the knowledge that to the end you are all I really cared for.