Dear bigfoot,

I began by counting the days, then the months.
I don't count on anything anymore except the hope that you will return, and the silent fear that in the years since we saw each other, this war, this awful war, will have changed us both beyond all reckoning.


When I first started to live with you and your love, I was so shy of how I looked, so out of place. But did you know how happy I was to escape from all the troubles that torments for the years of my life and knowing that you love me sincerely, accepting all my flaws with simply pure honesty?



My love, where are you? With no hope of reaching you, I write to you... as I have always done.


There are days now when I managed not to think of you.
When the needs of the home calls with more urgency than my miseries.
These time of the year there is so much life everywhere.
I find you in all of it.
As if you were still walking home to me.
As if you were still walking beside me.
As if you were laughing, giggling and smiling with your black eyes glowing, shining back at me.
I still smell your perfume, still very strong, still haunting me.
It felt like you're still here, your presence.
As if I just met you a few hours ago.


What we have lost will never be returned to us.
The land will not heal.
Too much blood.
The heart will not heal.
All we can do is make peace with the past and try to learn from it.


I looked once more at the puddle of water, and this time there was nothin' there to haunt me.
Just clouds.
Clouds,

and then... sun.










If you are fighting,

stop fighting.


If you are marching,

stop marching.


Come back to me.

Come back to me is my request.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009