I should have sent him that letter. The one in which I wrote how much I did
love him and how sorry I was about everything that went wrong. It wasn't my
fault and it wasn't his. It was just some of these things that just happen. I
should have sent at least one of all those letters I wrote, instead of
throwing them all in the garbage bin. I mean, I wrote them anyhow so it
wasn't that much trouble putting one of them in an envelope and putting a
stamp on, but I couldn't swallow my pride.
I don't know why I never sent any of those letters. Maybe things hadn't
been different between us anyhow but then I would have known I did something.
He was so perfect. So sweet, so good-looking, so intelligent and the best
thing about him - he was so funny. Whenever he entered a room, people stopped
talking, waiting for him to throw out a punch line. And he always did. Maybe
I would have been tired of all this if we had become really serious but now I
miss that I never got the chance to feel that.
Maybe he wasn't so perfect underneath. Maybe, when the first glow would
have disappeared I wouldn't like him at all. But we never got that far.
Things happened and I'm still wondering why. And I'm still feeling stupid
about never sending any of all those letters I wrote, never giving myself a
chance to find out, never giving my self a chance to forget. Now I'm sitting
here, an old lonely lady, 99 years old to be exact, no husband (not even a
dead one), no kids. Still writing those letters.
We know that actions we take have consequences, but do we ever think of the
actions we don't take?
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