It was just a note I found. It was lying there silently, ready to be forgotten. I picked it up from the floor and carefully unfolded it. I admired the clever looking handwriting, ink black as the darkest night. The piece of paper, this note, seemed to have been thrown away in a moment of weakness. Such beautiful writing should not have been wasted. I stroked the paper gently and took a moment before I started to read.
Now that I've seen her again, it has changed… The spell has gone. Still there is something that binds us and she smiles when I say that I will never forget that walk on a hot summer day. For she was my first love. Once in my life I was so much in love. Her hand in my hand, the birds and the gentle sun. There on that hot summer day, the feeling came over me as if the sun burned my skin. My whole life changed because of that hot summer day in July. She knows that it's true, that one week it was perfect, I loved her so much. I got to know true passion. And I will never forget it.
Once in my life I was so much in love. Her hand in my hand, the birds and the gentle sun.
The note nearly brought tears to my eyes. Such beautiful words, oh how I longed that my lover would write me such poetry. The man who had written it must have been torn apart by his emotions. How he had loved this woman. I think I felt a little envious. Who was it addressed to? I hadn't noticed an address or a name. I turned the paper around and checked each and every corner, but there was nothing. Shame, I thought. I hesitated as I looked at the note. Then I noticed something. A word that had faded on purpose was still more or less visible. I narrowed my eyes and brought the note up to my face to read it.
Fantine.
I looked up and frowned. The name sounded familiar. And then I knew who she was. I bit my lip as I looked at the note once more. I wondered if she had ever read it herself. I sighed as I wondered if he had known what hardships he had put her through. Did he know that he had ripped her heart out? Did he know that she was on her own, with her baby daughter? Did he know that she had left Paris just a few days ago? Suddenly my dream was torn and I threw the piece of paper away with disgust. Men were all the same.
Still, he had loved her.