He unfolds the translucent sheet to the blush of a sweet memory … the time she showed him this stationery … pronouncing its color the perfect reflection of daytime’s unclouded sky and … the blue of his eyes. He lingers in the joy, then begins to read.
Vincent, I love you.
We never speak the words aloud, I know, but here they are … for you to whisper to yourself.
The snow continues. It began in the dark, rehearsing perhaps, but the show was ready when dawn lit the stage. Chunky flakes, unwilling to rest, swirl in an accommodating wind, each small miracle engaged in this graceful ballet that seems choreographed … must be … it is so beautiful.
My flight has been delayed but I don’t mind. Sitting here I can feel close to you. Apartment buildings across the park are transformed and I imagine them … craggy, white-capped mountains … the perfection of their steel and glass outlines vague in this fog of snow. I ought to take pictures to share with you when I get back … but they couldn’t capture the grandeur. I wish … you know my wish.
Someday, my dear love. Someday.
The words blur and he misses her with an ache so deep …
I love you.
He will whisper it to her when she returns.