Old inns, old houses, old trees and grassy yards, an old town filled with old landmarks; each landmark reminding Todd of an old and unique pain, where they might have once been comfortable reminders of a happy life he had before.
In the inside pocket of his jacket, a slight weight reminded Todd of why he even came back to Windy Hills. Feeling heavier than its actual weight, Todd found the words of the letter rolling back through his mind, as though he had read the letter many times.
In truth, he had read it once and only once. But the one time was all he needed and the words haunted him and stuck with him since he read the first word and recognized the familiar handwriting.
The actual contents of the letter were unremarkable. It wasn’t the specific words, which he was trying to push out of his mind so as to not suffer their chilling effects any longer. It was who wrote it that made all the difference. And it pained him to think of meeting the daughter of the woman he loved face to face for the first time in many years.
So close to the anniversary of Amy’s passing, Todd already faced the weight of an emotional day, where he didn’t need familiar landmarks to lose himself to the dangerous roads of melancholy nostalgia. Those winding roads only ever travelled as a spiral, wandering circles moving ever downward into a pit that represented the worst of us.
Todd found himself in that pit often and he was never proud of the despair he felt and his unwillingness to let go. He knew the only reason he was going to meet with Charlotte, Amy’s daughter, was because he had an addiction to Amy’s memory. There would be no closure. No healing words or moments of emotional recovery.
Todd would breath in the scent of another memory and let it convince him that he was somehow close to touching Amy again.