CHAPTER ONE
Gripping my sandals tightly in my hand, I make my way across the beach that spans all along the border of Italy, finding the odd cowrie shell gleaming brightly through the yellow sand. I shift my gaze to the water's edge, scanning the ground for more until I take notice of an object bobbing in the gentle waves: a glass bottle. I struggle through the water and reach out for it.
I find myself clutching this odd glass bottle in my hands, carefully examining each feature one by one. The mouth of the bottle has been sealed with wax and a dirtied label lined with calligraphy has delicately been woven to a knot around the lid.
I cautiously untie it and snap off the lid and peer inside. My heart skips a beat when the sight of an aging rolled-up, paper inside struck me. My hands tremble as I, slowly, but carefully, slide the note out of the heat-caged bottle.
The paper has an unusual texture, quite velvety to touch. In fact, it is such a nice feeling that I can't help but continuously run my hand through the fabric.
I hesitate a while before I unravel the paper. Heart pounding, I study the beautifully printed, cursive writing.
"Dear Sylvia," I read aloud the initial line.
My heart just stops.
It is like my whole past, my life, just crashes down before my feet.
My very own name had been pressed onto the paper.
Was, perhaps, the letter dedicated to me?