I am sorry that you shall receive these letters only now. In the deepest depths of my heart, I know that you should have received and read these many months – if not even years – earlier. Unfortunately, when the time was more suitable for these letters to have been sent, I was a coward and a fool. I have selfishly sat on them now for many years, and am only today choosing to have it sent to you.
Today is one of the rarest of days; one of those where I can both remember my own name, as well as who you are. You must be heartbroken, my love, on those days when I cannot remember. I myself am unable to remember the days in which I am unable to recall your face, but I am told by a lovely nurse that they are many. All I seem to be able to recall is the fog, and it is an endless one filled with strange shapes and dark shadows. On the days like today, the days in which I can remember almost everything, I fear those other days. I’m not sure exactly what it is that I fear, but I never want them to return.
I am told that you are not to visit today, and that is OK. I understand that you have many other things to do with your time; I hope that you have a truly fantastic day. I’m sure that I shall have a fair day; the nurses that I can remember are all fantastically patient, and they always take their time to listen to my (surely dull) tales of older days. I often tell them about you, Archie; we have created so many fantastic stories in our long lifetime.
Unfortunately, life is not always like the stories, and although ours has been a marvellous one, the ending, of course, is not the happiest. I am not sad to be sat here now, sure that the end is edging closer, and nor do I want you to be sad, dear Archie. This is the course of life, and I have lived a selfishly long one. You could have spent yours with any lady, yet you chose me, and for that I have been forever grateful.
I am, of course, sad that you are to lose me; and in many, many ways already have. I am sad that I spent many hours without a single clue as to who the person I am is, or was, and who those often strange faces are that cloud my threadbare memories. But beyond that sadness, I am blindingly happy that in my life, I was loved by you.
With all my love,