The Letter

Initially, I did not recognise the individual in the photo. Nonetheless, I was curious as to which friend or relative had thought about me enough to send the letter. But there was no letter - at least, not a letter in the sense of a written message on printed paper and sent to me in an envelope. However, there was a blank sheet of paper folded around the photo of an Adonis glaring at the camera. Imagine my surprise then, after a slow dawning,  that the Adonis was me. When I say "me", I mean me as I had been some 35 years ago.

A little earlier, I had been minding my own business (as they say) when the envelope slid through the letter box and fluttered towards the floor. I picked up the envelope and scanned it for clues. French stamp, hand-written address but no information about the sender. I ran a finger over the stamp and wondered which friend or acquaintance from my home town in Germany was now on holiday in France. But I knew of no-one who had recently travelled to France and it was November - not a month I would usually associate with France in general or with overseas visitors in particular.

Slipping my finger under the flap, I ripped the envelope open and pulled out a creased sheet of blank paper. As I did so, a photo, hidden in the paper's folds, swayed downwards and landed on the floor with the faint sound of wind. Vaguely familiar eyes looked up at me from the floor, locked on to mine, and seemed to ask: "So - who am I ?"

Imagine my surprise then, after a slow dawning,  that the face of the Adonis in the photo was mine. It was not my "mine" as I know it to be now, but "mine" as I had known it to be over 30 years previously. I hardly recognised him! 

However, I knew immediately who had sent the letter. Although I had not seen or heard of her for thirty years, I admit I had often wondered about her from time to time. After all, we shared some good times together. The relationship had fizzled out and that, dear reader, was that.

There may well be people out there who disassociate from old loves and lovers and neither see them nor think of them again. I am not one of those people. If I say that I miss a person, it does not mean I still love them. Nor does it mean I am not over them.  I will remember all my girlfriends when I am older and greyer than I am now. My own experiences suggest that even if I never see old flames again, they never go away completely.

So - what does the letter mean? 

My vanity tells me that she misses me. Reality tells me the letter means nothing at all. Who knows? The human heart is a complicated thing. No wonder it is frequently the topic of films and books. Here are four stories about love and second chances that might interest you.

Maybe in Another Life - Taylor Jenkins Reid

Before we were Strangers - Rene Carlino

Again the Magic - Lisa Kleypas

I Let You Go - Clare Mackintosh

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[Christopher Goddard]

Thanks for a stimulating post, which gets (as Poirot might say) 'the little grey cells' creaking into action... and BTW, for once am in complete agreement with you about past relationships, which in a sense form part of who we are today.

[Robert John Goddard]

Thanks for the comments, Chris! I have to say that I do keep the readership in mind while writing these blogs. Some are, of course, better or easier to digest than others but most readers do not want an academic piece. They want a clear and concise opinion (and short-ish)article with pics. But thanks again for the comment. They are always welcome!!