Hello my dear, is the third day of July, and I only found now the strength to write to you. You left forever, and from this day, just remember it was sunny and the sky was crying for your absence.
Your missing here is still a mirage, a murmur of flowing watercolors on the walls of my room. I can not hear your voice or feel your hands, but burns in me all the words and all the love that I pour for you.
Sometimes I wake in the night and count the stars of this universe that used to fascinate you. If I close my eyes, I think with some bitterness that you will always be the same, frozen in time. And there is a certain irony in things that you can only see through the darkness.
I didn't go to your funeral, see all the people standing like a mirage, your hair combed back, your face merging with the landscape, It would be too much for me to bear.
I think your body does not belong to us anymore, and I think that is extremely vulgar to think about you buried along with thousands of other people who were forgotten by time. I understand with unhappiness that today my eyes had turned into mist, and loss will haunt me forever, as your sweet shampoo smell.
I think I would have liked to see you one last time, I might have said things that I can not tell in this letter. The days come and go quickly, in search of a new season for me. I wonder if I love you even more because you are dead, or if it is for the courage that I never had.
I would like you to know that if you had told me your intentions, I would never try to stop you. I do not know if you wish someone had to, but I know that these invisible eyes that roam the depths of my soul, roam yours too, and I think your actions are not business of anyone besides God.
I have not had the strength to cry yet, but today I walked and saw emerge another city, more real and cruel than ever. Certainly I see that these feelings won't change, and the scattered memories will never cease to haunt me while I'm alive. So I will meet with you soon. I see no more reason to live and your story inspires me to follow your steps.
I hope that on your tomb a flower emerges, nurtured by your soul, and your body turns into something more beautiful than the human being. I know you would like that. And even if beautiful roses don't emerge, yet will continue to love in the midst of weeds.
Arnold , you took all the answers with you.