Letter From London II

 

London, 20th of July 2021

Dearest, 

Another sweltering day. It's very hot, it feels like the tropics. I've been hiding in parks and well everywhere where I can find shade and coolness. I finished my book about Moïse de Camondo, it was beautiful and terribly sad. It did make me want to go back to Paris and stroll around the rooms of my favourite Hotel. I hate it when a good story ends. But as you may have guessed I have plenty of others to finish, because I always read several at the same time. I didn't do much today, it's too hot. I had breakfast in the garden again, the roses are starting to loose their petals, the floor is covered in pink specs. It's rather beautiful.

 I was quiet during breakfast, more quiet than usual for I never talk much in the morning. I had the most curious dream, it was in an old public library and it was full and full of books. Terribly high ceilings completely covered with books, it was quite something, I loved it. There you were again sitting down in between two shelves, you looked sad. I have a feeling you are sad or confused, I obviously don't know but I can feel it, it's like a heavy knot in my stomach when I think of you lately. You looked up when you saw me and smiled. You were wearing jeans(how curious) and you told me your wore swimming trunks underneath for no particular reason this made me laugh. As we went down we saw my Papa. How young he looked and I smelt his usual scent. He stood there as vividly before me as always. Although I can see him more clearly than I can see you. He looked at us and smiled. How happy he was to see us both. All of a sudden we were travelling in an old jeep racing over fields and past trees. We went so fast and an unknown man was driving. We had to change car in a little shed in the woods, I liked it there. You gave me tea and smiled at me and kept me warm for it was rainy. But as I woke up I was rather sad. I can't always remember you. Sometimes your voice, but not your smile, only sometimes. When I think of you it all seems hazy, like a dense, heavy fog, confusing. Perhaps it's time, time to forget about all of it. Perhaps that's the reason I dream of you. Perhaps there isn't that much to forget. For your interests and convictions are certainly not like mine. Perhaps you can't let go of them, perhaps you'll always be clouded by them. It always feels heavy, sad and uneasy when I think of it. It must be terribly oppressing and defeating to go through life like this but perhaps your demons are of comfort to you in a way. I hope not for your sake. 

I went for lunch with a boy today. He made me smile a little. He called me Ludwig on account of my wild hair, which I thought was rather flattering.  The conversation was charming, he was charming. I hate talking about generic things, people who talk about politics, the economy or god forbid religion are immediately disqualified. But he was clever and we had a nice afternoon. I had a Caesar Salad and a glass of white wine and afterwards we strolled a bit. A pleasant goodbye and I went off to look at some books, I simply can't help it... but I didn't buy any. 

I think my dear this will be my last letter to you, I made up my mind today. Because I noticed I can't go back to that place anymore, I visited these last few months, thought about it and realised I walked away long ago. I'm too happy that I've released all of that in the previous years and my friends are well, so different from all that and how nice they are. They're so bubbly and happy and interesting and intelligent. I think that kind of sadness doesn't belong to me anymore, I'm happy to say. So one last time, I'll say thank you and I hope one day you'll find the courage to be and accept who you really are. To love freely and truly and that you'll see the beauty that comes from within you. Who knows, perhaps one day in this life or the next we'll meet again, when we are different people. Safe travels my Dearest Peach.

All My Love,

Fabio