Dear Molly,
I was in front of your house yesterday and I couldn’t even knock your door. You still live in that old house, well… our house, the one we plan to fill up with children and dogs. I remember when we used to put daisies in the windows and hang wreaths on the door. Now it has the front covered with the little bindweed that I didn’t wanted but you loved.
It is surprising how the house were deteriorate over the years; I hope that does not reflect your strengths or passion for life. I would feel really miserable knowing it is my fault. I didn’t stand by your side when you needed it, my sweet girl. But nothing could be done; our families hated what they think us to became, not what we truly are. Monsters of licentiousness and excess possessed their delicate flowers in blossom, according to them. They never understood the persons we wanted to be nor our true feelings. However, your sister was kind and she said nothing when we met secretly in the library to declare our love. You remember that time? Our hands touched furtively under table, my eyes shone every time we see each other at a distance and you smiled at the second to see me with a big smile that did not fade from your lovely face.
I grew in love with your purity and your passion and was really hard leaving you; a part of me died that night. I’ve never was so dreary in my life, like in the past 10 years. I hid my love and I get married with Bruce to help my family… or maybe I couldn’t bear the drama of them. But as you predicted, nobody gave me more fullness than you, nor him, nor those persons that claim to be my family. All the time was you; my heart still beats in tune with yours.
I’m so sorry my Molly; maybe someday I could knock your door and tell you this in person, but in the meantime you receive this letter as an explanation and an apology…
Karla
This was my entry to the #365ofwriting challenge organized by 