Dear John,
I remember that summer. The irreplaceable summer. the smell of summer. The only summer I have ever liked, for I am a woman of the cold and of winter.
That summer in my old grandpa's farm I was reborn. Your invitation to a new land, a new destiny, new smells, an air plain, a ticket. I felt new again.
The rain of summer danced upon your windowsill, the rain of summer. Green bicycle, old European ships, cherries, and white cherrie blossom, my old perfume.
This summer, A bunch of memories that I have recycled over and over again, ached for my lost moment, but now it is not much but memories. That summer was one of the best summer of my life but it also has changed everything, it changed everything I see about life. And how by one way of honesty things are changed forever. You have owned me with your thoughts and by disappointing you I have been enslaved. What seemed to be a short summer passed into a memory of eight year, trying to replace the memories and replace you which is obviously impossible to replace (laugh).
Many waters have passed in this river and nothing is similar to even the passed year. Jeffery is now a finishing his studies here, Mary have moved two years ago to Paris, I myself have moved to live alone, you know, I love my loneliness. Once you fall in love with loneliness no love can tear you apart.
At the moment I am fixing my new apartment. You have probably realized that my letters are coming often with short details. I am sending it to you to that specific mailbox. I hope you get them all in time. Happy collection.
Yours,
Sylvia
(All rights reversed to Keren Ginossar)
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