A sigh

Sorting out my study, I have recently rediscovered a letter my grandmother used to keep in her dressing table. I found it when emptying her house after she died, and to this day it remains a family mystery. The letter is dated 1944, two years before my grandparents met. I ignore the identity of the young man in question, and unfortunately there is nobody left in the family to ask. Maybe he never made it back from the war of resistance. Maybe he met somebody else. Maybe by the time my grandmother married my grandfather she had given up on waiting. Interestingly, she never sent the letter, as it is the original I keep.

I thought of copying it here for two reasons. One, Emotional Incompetence may be hereditary. Two, life is a bitch.
Apologies for the unfortunate translation.

Amore mio,
Today I saw you walk away for the last time.
You kissed me. A moment that lasted far too long. 'Just go', I was thinking.
Then, you turned back and waved goodbye.
I stood there. While you disappeared in the crowd.

It is not down to me whether I will see you again. And my brain cannot comprehend the paradox. Of life deciding for us. Of what two people may or may not be meant to be. I cannot accept that we need to submit to a destiny I would rather fight. But there is another fight awaiting you, and this must sound as the selfish mutter of a silly woman. Who should instead support your bravery, your commitment, your dedication.
Who am I to try and interpret the routes of fate? To look for reasons where there aren't any. You need to leave and defend our freedom. I need to stay and resist here. Resist to invasion, deprivation and cruelty. Changes of hearts of foolish leaders. Friends disappearing.
Your loss, the loss of all the young men and women. It will change the society we live in forever. And what am I doing? Instead of crying for our battered land, hurt and violated, I cry for the image of you, cigarette in hand, your last stare. Can I possibly be jealous of this land you chose above me, you pledged to defend, you will sacrifice your life for? No, I am not even allowed to. How pathetic would that be.

There are no days to your return to be counted.This is an open-ended road. You cannot stop until your mission is over. Until all is left is my waiting. Until the bright red of your present bleeds into the warm gold of your future. Will there be anything left for me to remember?

Goodbye, my love. Farewell. Forgive my weak words, my pointless grief. I always knew. But I find no consolation in the awareness of the ineluctably, the fragility of your embrace.

Of all the words we shared, nothing is left to say. Just a taste, a sound, your sensory footprint. Like the warm impression in the bed you will be leaving.

Mine, until you will remember. Yours, until this letter fades and disappears.