Fourth Letter To Fran
Matilda says you aren’t coming back and I should forget about you and let it go. We sat in her front yard last night, talked and drank beers until long after it got dark. I told her about our trip to Turkey, the two weeks we spent there. I told her about that night you and I sat on the bench by the Bosphorus, after hours of walking around the city. I looked up at the sky, and it was so clear with so many stars. I held your hand and breathed deeply, and the thought entered my head: ‘my God, I’m actually completely, perfectly happy’…
How do you let go of something like that?
Matilda says it will take time. She hugged me, and her hair smelt like cigarettes and musk. I felt a hole inside me grow deeper, as if an elevator descending down a dark shaft.