I reminisced today, Christine. I thought back to those endless days when I was your tutor, simply a formless voice that could only exalt you, your talents; you had nothing to fear. I remember them fondly, those lessons – you would sing, oh, how you would sing. No greater gift has ever been bestowed upon my senses, you realize. Even as a child, a young, innocent child (could you possibly be any more innocent?), you could sing to bring the stars falling from the sky. Perhaps that is why I have been wishing on shooting stars as of late. I wonder if you remember those days, Christine, the same way I do. You were so fearless – your only anxiousness was that you would displease me. A petty thought, my dear. Your soul would never allow you to falter, and your heart was never faint.

I can declare this all as factual, because I can read your eyes as simply as I can ready any novel. Sometimes they glitter, sometimes they blaze, sometimes they dance and sometimes they cry. And sometimes they glitter with unshed tears and sometimes they dance nervously as you try to hide the blazing flames that lunge at your soul. But on those days when we sang … your eyes were so beautiful. They were so vibrant; so alluring. They were invigorated with the sweet melody we created, and they blazed an entire spectrum of colors. I do love your eyes, Christine.

It's a pity I cannot see them as often as I used to; it's a pity they don't look up to me with that same spellbound admiration. I miss it; I miss your voice so eagerly melding with my own, and I miss feeling you so close; our visceral beings touching and reaching a state of utter completeness. Do you remember? Do you ever feel that aberrant glow anymore? I know you are feeling something, for when I see you on the stage you are so alive. But what fuels that new flame; what is your new sustenance borne of? I wish I knew, because I can't seem to get past what we've created. Sometimes I wonder how easy it was for you to smile and go on pursuing your life; fulfill your destiny. And then I wonder why I have made so little progress. And it's ironic, too, I believe.

You live here; you reside in the opera house. How easy it would be to capture you and crush the shadows that still linger; I have no doubt that your light, your simple presence, would send them skittering back from whence they came. But I made a promise, and you have unconsciously upheld your end of the vow that I have spurred between us. I will not steal you away. But I must say that there are times I wish I could; there are times when his arms don't seem to hold you right. And my own ache, and I can do nothing but curse the wretchedness of it all. I wonder if you have shown him the roses I leave for you. I certainly hope not, dear, for he has not the capacity to see past the satin ribbon and bloody roses. He doesn't share in the fleeting moments and unspoken words that are contained in those flowers. He does not see how they are laced in tenderness and undying affection. Do you see it anymore, Christine? It slips so easily from your fingers, my rose, and it remains unseen on your dresser for days. Sometimes I wonder what I have done wrong.

Is it my idleness? Is it that promise that holds me back; those barbed words that I have foolishly sworn to stand by? No, perhaps I am only becoming too much of a dreamer, wishing you would return me feelings when I have vowed to keep a distance between us. And then I see you, and my heart is twisted and wrung dry and still threatens to overflow. Is it truly love that you have found? Are you simply in his arms to avoid the dangerous, bewildering emotions you may have felt ignite when we sang? Perhaps it is easier for you to lie and completely deny all of this, because you have someone to hold and comfort you; you have someone to drown out the voices that echo and cry in your head. But I don't, my love, I have only you. Do you see this strange, qualmish circle we have drawn?

Sometimes I wish for more than one shooting star to fall in a single evening. One for you, so that you may be strong and well and attain your highest dreams; and one for me, so that I might hold your hand along the way.