I shall not start my last letter to you with a commonly boring « Dear Brooke ». I thought about it, I long hesitated, and I decided against it. Who knew I'd be sitting here, in front of the dark brown desk you bought me 6 years ago, tormenting myself over how to start a letter.
I just caught myself smiling over that blank page placed in front of me. This should not be difficult. This is not the first letter I've ever written to you, or the first leaf of paper I have ever had to fill. And yet it feels like the bravest thing I will do in my life.
I remember those early mornings when I would feel your eyes on me and pretend to be still asleep so that I could linger in that state of heart where chocolate milk and berry waffle would have to wait. I would sense the tip of your fingers grazing feathery at my jaw line, traveling slowly to my lips for a delicate moment. I would shiver when your mouth would get dangerously closer to the skin of my neck and sensually blow on it. I would betray myself with the smile that would be appearing when you would whisper good morning in my ear.
I remember those afternoons when, in a lost moment of inspiration, my mind would wander and travel with you. I would picture you at work, sitting at your desk, like I am right now in the room you rearranged for me, slightly biting your lower lip and loosely playing with a strand of your hair, trying to soothe your doubts for your next meeting with your editor. I would picture you in front of the kids' picture framed they offered you for Mother's day, smiling, your mind drifting back to the moment you caught them secretly making it in Rosalind's room. And I would remember a quote I wrote: I will look through the window, waiting for the last rays of sun, thinking about those days where we would just stand, the rain pouring on us and our love pouring on the world.
I remember those late nights when, after tucking in the kids and kissing them goodnight, I would just watch you frowning at me for hiding your notebook in an attempt of sliding discreetly a note in between the pages. I would stroke your cute little nose when we would be watching the rerun of Casablanca, with your head on my lap. I would smile down at your eyes, unsuccessfully trying to struggle against tiredness. I would contently sigh right before falling asleep in our soothing bed, our eyes meeting one last time before slumber would reach us.
I remember falling in love. Falling in love with life with you, a life full of chocolate cookies and Diet Coke. Falling in love with your mind, a mind full of uncommon thoughts and surprising maturity. Falling in love with your heart, a heart full of strength and vulnerability.
I could have composed you another poem. I could have quoted a tremendous amount of writers. I could have enumerated all the things that make me fall in love with you every second of the day. But that would not still be enough to portray fairly my love for you. Any sound coming from my voice, any words coming from my mind, any beat coming from my heart would depict rightly how you have lightened my life.
I gave you my heart a long time ago. And you gave me the world for my every tomorrow. I got lost under your touch, I got lost into your eyes, I got lost over your smile. You gave me a forever with Rosalind's singing and you gave me a forever with Holden's glow. And yet I am still unsure if I should smile or cry when I think of you. Smile at the moments you spent with my eyes on you, or cry at those I won't have yours on me.
I went through our pictures albums not long ago. I was on the couch, with every fragment of our life together in front of me, trying to impregnate myself a last time of the joy we shared over the years. From our first cake to our first vacation. From Holden's first ice cream to Rosalind's first ballet.
I went over what I wrote so far. And I smiled. This is not how I wanted the last thing you will have from me to be. I wanted it to have that refreshing breath of air you give me when I see you. I wanted it to be that radiating sensation I feel when our arms are intertwined. I wanted it to be that captivating sentiment you provide me when you smile at me. I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be me. I wanted it to be us.
I know you will get my letter. I know that after the grief, the tears and the pain you will go through the time following my departure, you will muster the strength to read The Catcher in the Rye one last time, as I know you will. Only you know the place that book has in both of our heart. And there, in between the used pages of the book I bought you in the prologue of our life together, you will find my last words, written on that purple paper you like so much because it reminds you of the scent of Florence. I would have given the envelope to you myself, but I wanted you to get to read it when the time would be right. 8 weeks, 6 months, 4 years from now, I don't know. Only you can know.
I wish I could tell you when the right time will be there for you. I wish I could prevent you from having to get to wait for it. I wish I could stay pillow fighting with you and the kids longer. I wish I could stay seeing you cheering at Holden's soccer game longer. I wish I could stay watching you brushing Rosalind's silky brownish hair longer. I wish I could stay spelling invisible words on the palm of your hand with my fingers longer. I wish I could stay with you longer.
I am still uncertain of where I will be going, and honestly, I don't think I gave much thought about it either. I don't know where I will be. But you will be with me. I remember the time where we would just sit on the porch outside, smiling at the breeze coming from the stars. I remember that story you used to read to Rosalind every night.
The night breeze is the whisper of the stars. Stars glow and blow on the world to remind us that they still exist. I will be your breeze, Brooke. I will still be with you, just like I will keep you with me.
Till Death do us part. I know my love for you is stronger than any vow I made on that flowery day. Stronger than I have ever been. When the vows will fade away, my love will go on beyond my life. It will still shimmer. And you will still be my wife.
No matter where I will be, no matter how much time it will take, I'll be there waiting for you to wake up next to me again.
Goodnight, Brooke.
