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Benjamin’s letter to Violet began–

I wanted you to fall in love. Not necessarily with me, but with something, anything, everything that would bring you to life.

I have been deeply moved by both your doggedness and your loneliness. I may live in the University Library, Violet, but you live in an Ivory Tower that scrapes a gray sky. I have never doubted your research skills. I admire your desire to discover the truth about me. And I respect your misguided and ill-fated attempts to impose logic on a feeling as damnably illogical as love.

I can see you’ve known great affection at times. I understand your decision to brick off your heart and live a solitary existence on a higher plane after the horrible loss of your beloved father. But, in the rush to overcome justifiable grief, you’ve forsaken the ability to feel at all.

Yours is very much a life of the mind. You regard romantic notions as dangerous uncertainties. And because of this, the days and weeks and years you’ve been allotted are ticking away, measured with a metronome set in motion by one parent’s death and made perpetual by the other’s perceived betrayal. You were right to try to rise above, to elevate yourself beyond caring. But this is literally killing you.

Perhaps I was hasty in professing my love for you. What was I–a man who’d secluded himself in the library stacks because of an irreparably broken relationship–thinking? I’ll tell you the fanciful refrain that was playing through my head: You had dedicated hours to researching my provenance, my biography, my past. You spent much time amongst the books by my side, first ordering, then imploring me to leave the premises. You said you wanted to see me return to society and share my story, that it may serve to save another soul.

But Violet–I want the body and soul I save to be yours.

I’ve told copious half-truths and a smattering of lies to you. I have neither the power, nor the inclination to continue this charade. You ran from that rooftop and descended the steep staircase more recklessly than you’d done anything in decades. I followed, intent on keeping you within the confines of my self-made prison so I could convince you we were meant to be together. You didn’t stop when I called after you. You didn’t hesitate to shove your way through those thick, ponderous doors–the ones that keep me locked in and the real world out.

You, blinded by tears, of what…? Anger at my forwardness? Distrust of my intentions? Shock at hearing you could be loved? Fear of returning that sentiment? Regardless, you rushed right into the street and were struck by a truck before I could summon the courage to cross the threshold.

I failed you then. I swear I will never fail you again.

As you read this, I am sitting outside your hospital room, head in hands, wondering how–or even if–you will receive me. Don’t let this become yet another dead letter in a long line of frustrating and truncated correspondences, Violet. I beg you, rise and come see how you’ve set me free. I wanted you to fall in love; please let it be with me.