The Convict's Note

Dearest,
We talked about all the wonderful things we could do together, the places we could go and never come back if we chose. You asked that I tell you everything there was to know about me, and when I did, you never ceased asking if I had told you all of it. Your willingness to let yourself feel and live every inch of my life like it was yours gave me a sense of belonging and purpose. How much I long to hold and kiss you one more time.
While I can honestly say I told you the truth, I feel ashamed to admit I may have kept some things from you; things I could not bring myself to accept, let alone tell anyone else. I am at my corridor’s end now, and not the same man I once was; I feel it is time you knew it all.
A short time ago right before we became lovers, I had involved myself in the most vile of evils; an evil by which most men at some point in their lives came to succumb and are consumed by. One by which they may later seek a means of escape but naught succeed. The lust for power it was my dear, a force so strong, much to the point I killed for - and this secret to be kept sacred, required even more death when necessary.

Of the few noble and upright men to walk the short phase of life, I say with utmost certainty, I did not belong.
My dearest Catherine, please do not let them say I lived an unfulfilled life; for maybe by ignorance or misinformation, they seldom display their knowledge of what your presence made of me. I have always known about karma and the tales of legend it beckoned, perhaps, I had felt my life’s cycle might be exempted for sake of your love; wishful thinking it was, I now reckon – my past did finally catch up to me.
The fear of death had lingered, ever present in my consciousness, but often made minuscule only by the ecstasy of your love making – at least, Hemingway spoke rightly on this one thing. It is in fact true by all that breathes and lives, what a great woman you are indeed.
I do not intend that you pity or feel sorry for me, nor do I wish you repent ever knowing me. It is my intention as always my darling that you know; I barely live when I’m not with you.
Sitting here locked up as cow in barn does not do much for my psyche knowing my time is almost up. They say my execution will stay quick and painless, but I’ll be damned if I let another man decide how I go out.
Dying is nothing to me now, for I have neither picture nor fear of it in my mind anymore; the life you will live after my demise beclouds all imagination as strongly as thunderstorms are to rainy day.
If I could bare my heart to you in person as I do now, I would my love, only I have no such luck anymore. Truthfully, luck and I went separate ways a long time ago, our last encounter being the day you opened your heart to me.
But who knows? Maybe I am in luck today once again, for I know this note will find you in best of health and good spirit.
Walking down a different path might have escaped me this fate, but on the other hand, it also would have denied me the pleasure of knowing you – my regrets stand biased.
I do believe I have told you now, all there is to know about me Catherine, and if by any chance my luck runs full on this day, I also believe you have forgiven my choice to keep from loving ears as yours, my past crimes.

Yours,
D.J Price