DEAR BLANCA:

Today we would celebrate... Correction; today we celebrate fifty years of marriage. Our golden anniversary. To celebrate it, I took my pen (your pen, the one you gave me) and started writing to you. First, I want to apologise for not having done this before. Or, to be fair, for not being able to continue beyond the first line, because the fact is I tried, countless times, without success. It wasn’t because I didn't have anything to say to you. It just so happens that sorrow is a great obstacle for words; it stops them from flowing out of your mouth or pen. Even the more pressing ones. One's life could be in grave danger, and it would still be a superhuman effort just to ask for help. This could h sound like an excuse, but believe me: it’s not an excuse, it’s a good reason. Anyway, since this time I was able to go beyond the cursed threshold of the first line, you can deduce that I have found some consolation to my sorrow. And it's precisely about that, my love, about the foundations of this consolation, that I want to talk to you. Since it could not have been in any other way (no other argument would have worked), this comfort of mine is based on the hope that you and I will be together again. I know, it sounds bizarre. After all, you are dead. Nevertheless, please allow me to explain myself. The good thing about this is that it’s not an elusive dream, a mere exercise in voluntarism – like when you, in some summer nights in Palamós, would wish upon falling stars. Of course, there is no conclusive proof that we will be together again; at least I have not found it. However, I have found some things... hints that open the door for hope. I can see you smiling ironically at my detective talk. Laugh all you want, but the truth is that in last few years I have become a sort of modest emulator of Hercules Poirot, just to name your favourite detective. Except the mystery that I’m investigating has nothing in common with the kind of cases to which the famous sleuth applied his cunning. My research, conducted in the realm of ancient knowledge, takes a more intangible and elusive scope. The field of transcendence, of the hidden reality.

https://www.amazon.com/Love-letters-widower-mystery-ancient-ebook/dp/B07CMG3HY3

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