The truth is that talking to him was her way of channeling the "uncomfortable" silence that occurred when the word was absent and she looked at him. I always feared that I would find her looking beyond her eyes, with that almost hurtful clearness, inquiring into her depths. What she really wanted was to look at him without a word, to smell him, to kiss him ...
She remembered the first time she had discovered him, in the most childlike and tender way possible. It was something strange, an intangible connection that she could not describe.
Then time passed and some casual, or causal, trips and many furtive looks. And then in a subtle way a small routine of brief and innocent encounters was established, always anxious for that little bit of fleeting talk.
She deceived herself by disguising emotions and transforming realities.
One summer afternoon, she invited him to a cafe, just to see him one more time. She did not get the courage to strip her soul and left, with that feeling of guilt, cowardice, scared and adolescent girl.
Regretful, with pen and delirious paper, she showed him her feelings. Fearful of not being reciprocated and even more, of becoming one ...
Her only desire was not to keep it inside and free herself from that weight, despite knowing that it could take her away forever from his life.
Now she is free, because she understood that what she feels is much stronger than physical contact. It is a feeling that is born from the deepest, that is pure, clean, although perhaps inappropriate.
The letter had a return address, in case the recipient decided to answer her sometime ...
