So, I have just finished a "short story" called Because It Is Dark, Because It Is The Human Heart, nominally fictional, but unmistakably autobiographical though I made up most, if not all, of it. I had to, in order to protect you and myself. Sadly, you knew nothing about the existence of the story. I had to write the story to unburden myself. I had to fantasize the story in order to relieve myself of the weight of my growing affection for you that had weighed heavily on me ever since you fatefully took my hand into yours.
As I mentioned in the story, my heart is a strange, lonely hunter. It is after impossible prey and hopeless dreams. But that's who I am. I live for far-out fantasies. I dwell on sweet serendipities. You are my impossible lady, my muse, my flame of passion, the sweetest, kindest woman I ever know.
I do hope that one day, not too far in the future, you come across the story, recognize yourself in there, and come running to me and complain, "Roberto, my dear, dear Roberto, my sweet prince, my little chicken-hearted gentleman, why didn't you send the story to me right after you wrote it, so we didn't have to waste all this time of silent dreams and secret fantasies. Do you know that to me, you've been my Tequila Sunrise? I drink you each and every night. I read and reread your words everyday, wondering if they were all true or you just fantasized."
Wissai
March 21, 2015
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