Once again, thank you very much for the lovely weekend. I will never forget the way you looked at me, in the car, with the windows let down and the wind playing with your lovely hair. Up to that day I would have said no one could wear a pink dress and not look like a little girl playing grown-up, but with you it suited the moment so perfectly. You looked edible, I swear. Devourable. The sun glistened on your lovely gold hair, and you laughed, at nothing, at something stupid I may have said... you finally laughed. I have seen you sad so many times, even more during the last few weeks, as this dream comes closer to its ending and reality lurks in the shadows to feast upon us.
Oh my, this must sound so pathetic. The wine probably does not help one little bit. The colour reminds me of your lips, although you would never wear this dramatic shade of red - maybe it reminds me of your taste when we kissed, and the intoxicating sensation of it, and all the things that happened afterwards... but most of all I will always treasure the little things, like how you cut that apple for breakfast the next morning, or the way your morning gown lay on the floor like the shed skin of a butterfly, and you were already getting dressed and all busy with returning to your family. Your parents had this grand thing planned, and of course I was not invited... too declassée for the likes of them. Somehow I never imagine you as part of your family.
The hard part is - we cannot meet again. And you know that perfectly well. You know how the people would frown upon us, and how difficult it would be. I mean, I am used to this, but I could not bear to have them stare at you and tell lies behind your back, like trampling on fragile daisies. Everything would change, and although I cannot imagine one day without you - one moment without you - by the time you read this I will have been gone for good, and no one knows where to send my mail or how to contact me in case of emergency, so don't even try. You family will probably fix you up with some really nice, gentle, good-looking, rich guy, and I am sure you will be happy after all. That is the life you were designed for. Please, leave me this dream - of you, sitting on a white porch, ice tea in one hand, your letter case in the other, reading something with your head bowed and your hair trailing about your selnder shoulders. You will have lovely kids playing on the lawn, occasionally coming up to you for a kiss or a hug, and when your husband comes home from work you will stand up and greet him lovingly and put your arms around him and think of the time we had as if it had only been a dream... if you think of me at all. And above all this, you will hear his voice, "I love you, Samantha." For what else could he say to someone as adorable as you?
The bags are waiting at the door. I will leave now, and I will not return.