Dear Sue: It could seem strange to you to receive a letter from me at this time. Casually I found some records that remind me the time I used to spend with you before I get married. I don’t know why life didn’t give us the chance of being together, but I know that maybe I will consider this love like a remaining thing; I mean that never is going to end. I don’t want it to sound like I’m glad about it but now that my husband died I feel more freedom to talk about what I really feel, because sometimes I structure my life the way I don’t want to, and you know that about me. I wish I could have you here by my side telling you these things face to face; I’m looking forward for an answer to verify this letter gets to you. There are so many things I would like to say to you Sue! But it’s so difficult when so many years had passed and I have a family already formed…I know you are living a long way from here now, but I would like to see you again, to remember our childhood and our teen ages, since we spend together practically fifteen years and it’s difficult to fill the emptiness I felt when you moved from this country, because I knew it was not the end, and I’m still sure about that. Now I’m trying to hide the distance, but I know it’s too long to ignore; maybe we can work it out somehow, or we won’t work any more. I’m not sure if I should send this letter now. Maybe you don’t feel the same things I do, but I needed to know about you. I hope you remember how insecure I am, and now I’m doubting how would it be when we meet again, and how can I forget that if it happens… anyway, I only want you to know I remember what we shared and I want you to forgive me for getting married with George, but I couldn’t wait for you and I felt with him the same way I felt when I was with you, but now it’s just a memory., so it would be better if we can see to talk about it, because it’s not healthy to leave a remaining thing in our lives…
Like if I wouldn’t put an ending to this letter. But it is time to do it. So I wish the best for you, and to see you sometime. Good bye.
Dear Steven: You are probably as surprised to receive this letter as I was to be writing it. Nevertheless I somehow felt compelled to do so and this time, could not contain myself. Many things have happened since my husband’s passing. First I grieved, then there was nothing. Emptiness. A void. A void nothing can cover, no one can patch up. Time trudges on, yet this vacant state of the soul refuses to walk away side by side with it. I have known nothing of you since that one last kiss, that one last clash of your tender lips on mine before our paths parted and indeed followed time on its inexorable voyage. I have known nothing of you. Not if you are back, not if you succeeded, not if you failed; not if you are well or if you still smile the same way; not if you ever found someone else. All I do know, all I do feel, is that inexplicable urge to sense that warmth of yours again. It all started when I accidentally came across my old records. Our old records. I listened to them. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, perhaps I should. You never liked the thought of fate controlling our lives, yet we found no other explanation for us meeting. Destiny? Coincidence? What matters, if in the end we met. I listened to them, our records. I’ve always liked their covers. Now I realize it is not so much for the designs but for the memories they keep for me. The vase stain from that time you brought me those Agapanthus (I was too shy to admit it then but I never thought any one flower could be so beautiful, so blue); the bleached cover from our picnics under the merciless summer sun. The same tunes we once sang together, holding hands by the windowsill, your eyes on mine, my eyes on yours, as the rain poured down relentlessly outside. And as I listened, I wondered, did we give up too soon? Was there something else for you and me? Did I pass out on the love of my life? Is it too late to take back goodbye? We were so young. But my mind goes back in time with every memory. Was it real love? Did we prevent it from blooming? As I see my child, as I watch her and look into her eyes, I see my husband through her. What if it was you who I could see? What would have become of our lives if we have stayed together? The thing is, I never stopped thinking of you and I would have never forgiven myself if I did not tell you. Late, indeed, but here I am. After all those years, after all we were through, now what remains is just to imagine of what could have been. So there you have it. There you have me. Loveless. I am not expecting you to answer this letter, I would prefer it if you didn’t. I just needed to scatter these thoughts on paper, with no previous drafts, with the words coming as my heart dictated them. I hope you are happy, and I wish you best. It is hard to say it, time to say it: goodbye.
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Dear Sue:
It could seem strange to you to receive a letter from me at this time. Casually I found some records that remind me the time I used to spend with you before I get married. I don’t know why life didn’t give us the chance of being together, but I know that maybe I will consider this love like a remaining thing; I mean that never is going to end. I don’t want it to sound like I’m glad about it but now that my husband died I feel more freedom to talk about what I really feel, because sometimes I structure my life the way I don’t want to, and you know that about me.
I wish I could have you here by my side telling you these things face to face; I’m looking forward for an answer to verify this letter gets to you. There are so many things I would like to say to you Sue! But it’s so difficult when so many years had passed and I have a family already formed…I know you are living a long way from here now, but I would like to see you again, to remember our childhood and our teen ages, since we spend together practically fifteen years and it’s difficult to fill the emptiness I felt when you moved from this country, because I knew it was not the end, and I’m still sure about that. Now I’m trying to hide the distance, but I know it’s too long to ignore; maybe we can work it out somehow, or we won’t work any more.
I’m not sure if I should send this letter now. Maybe you don’t feel the same things I do, but I needed to know about you. I hope you remember how insecure I am, and now I’m doubting how would it be when we meet again, and how can I forget that if it happens… anyway, I only want you to know I remember what we shared and I want you to forgive me for getting married with George, but I couldn’t wait for you and I felt with him the same way I felt when I was with you, but now it’s just a memory., so it would be better if we can see to talk about it, because it’s not healthy to leave a remaining thing in our lives…
Like if I wouldn’t put an ending to this letter. But it is time to do it. So I wish the best for you, and to see you sometime.
Good bye.
(Sabrina Rossi Gasotto)
Dear Steven:
You are probably as surprised to receive this letter as I was to be writing it. Nevertheless I somehow felt compelled to do so and this time, could not contain myself. Many things have happened since my husband’s passing. First I grieved, then there was nothing. Emptiness. A void. A void nothing can cover, no one can patch up. Time trudges on, yet this vacant state of the soul refuses to walk away side by side with it. I have known nothing of you since that one last kiss, that one last clash of your tender lips on mine before our paths parted and indeed followed time on its inexorable voyage. I have known nothing of you. Not if you are back, not if you succeeded, not if you failed; not if you are well or if you still smile the same way; not if you ever found someone else. All I do know, all I do feel, is that inexplicable urge to sense that warmth of yours again. It all started when I accidentally came across my old records. Our old records. I listened to them. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, perhaps I should. You never liked the thought of fate controlling our lives, yet we found no other explanation for us meeting. Destiny? Coincidence? What matters, if in the end we met. I listened to them, our records. I’ve always liked their covers. Now I realize it is not so much for the designs but for the memories they keep for me. The vase stain from that time you brought me those Agapanthus (I was too shy to admit it then but I never thought any one flower could be so beautiful, so blue); the bleached cover from our picnics under the merciless summer sun. The same tunes we once sang together, holding hands by the windowsill, your eyes on mine, my eyes on yours, as the rain poured down relentlessly outside. And as I listened, I wondered, did we give up too soon? Was there something else for you and me? Did I pass out on the love of my life? Is it too late to take back goodbye? We were so young. But my mind goes back in time with every memory. Was it real love? Did we prevent it from blooming? As I see my child, as I watch her and look into her eyes, I see my husband through her. What if it was you who I could see? What would have become of our lives if we have stayed together? The thing is, I never stopped thinking of you and I would have never forgiven myself if I did not tell you. Late, indeed, but here I am. After all those years, after all we were through, now what remains is just to imagine of what could have been. So there you have it. There you have me. Loveless. I am not expecting you to answer this letter, I would prefer it if you didn’t. I just needed to scatter these thoughts on paper, with no previous drafts, with the words coming as my heart dictated them. I hope you are happy, and I wish you best. It is hard to say it, time to say it: goodbye.
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