My dear sweetheart,
There’s a sparrow on the porch. Ooh Jeanie, I haven’t seen one for ages.
Remember how you made fun of my bird-watching, calling me your beloved Alfred, named after Hitchcock, the famous director of “The birds”. Yet I had no intentions of scaring you, or hurting you for that matter. I apologize, my dear, if I ever have.
It seems winter times are the perfect occasion to be forgiven. No one wants to come home to an empty house without a warm set of arms to flee into. So lovers stack away their differences and find each other again in a temporary peace of heart and mind. Yes dear, I know what you would say. Not all is well, there are still women shedding tears and men muffling their hurt with too much alcohol on dreadful, icy evenings. But I’d rather say these are just rare cases of frozen hearts unable to connect to the warmth of someone else’s.
You know I am a romantic, sweetheart.
Up till this day, that’s what has kept me alive. These letters to you and my pretend that you actually read and understand them. I imagine you walking into the room when I’m asleep, tiptoe tiptoe, like a weightless angel. You sit down on your side of the bed, your one hand softly resting on my cheek as the other one pulls my letter from underneath your pillow. You read it with that smile that made me fall in love with you and sweep your soft fingers across my skin. Then you slip the letter back, having read all the words, how much I miss you. You stay a little longer, just to watch me sleep, and when you leave, you whisper you love me, although I can’t hear.
And that you’ll be waiting, when time is right, so I have nothing to fear.
Every morning I wake up with a little sadness and a little smile. Every night I have you and lose you again. Aren’t you a beautiful tragedy, Jeanie. I wish you were still here.
Little Ellie is growing up so fast, you would have been delighted to see how she starts to remember the notes on the piano. The child is a little wonder, just like you said when she was born. She still wears the bracelet with your name, even refuses to take it off in the shower or the pool. Bless her soul, she misses you so much. We all do.
So in a few days, Christmas will finally be here, I will make you proud, my dear. You know how last year I burned that casserole, well I won’t have any of that this year. Ellie and me have been looking for recipes for ages, she just points at the pictures she likes (mostly, those of cakes) and I try to figure out if I will be able to handle it. Some things are so complicated to make, you must have been a genius. I guess I understand why you would ban everyone from the kitchen while you were at it. You’d look as if you were about to do miracles, twinkles in your eyes.
Such a small thing, to cook us dinner, is what made you feel on top of the world. You’ve taught me what it means to be humble, to be thankful. There’s no meal I skip without thinking about that satisfied look on your face, the flower you forgot to dust out of your hair. A business woman enjoying cooking in her free time, only I could have been that lucky.
I still try to feel lucky, for having had you all these years. But it gets hard, baby. It gets so incredibly hard. Because if I start thinking “what if you were still here” I lose it, I break. I can’t fall apart because of Ellie but sometimes, especially now, I want to bury my body underneath the piles of snow outside and numb my feelings. Hope that no one comes looking for me, so I can run away with you, to wherever you are right now.
One day, sweetheart. One day. First I’ll try to make the best of life as I know you would have. It’s a privilege, to be here, so I must be strong and carry on. Just remember, there’s no one else I would rather kiss under the mistletoe or tuck our daughter in with after watching the fireworks.
Remember how much I love you. Forever remember me how I remember you.
Forever love. Forever hope.