Remembering a love
Written by the author and writer of the East, Michelle Yazar. Who brings us on this occasion, this book that is made up of a series of letters sent between 29 years Eugene Myers and 31 years Patrick Stanley, both originally from London, England. During the years of World War II (1941-1945). It all begins when Patrick was about to declare his feelings to Eugene, being called to enlist as a soldier in the British army, to fight against the nazis. This unleashes a series of events, which Eugene, through his letters, expresses along with the immense pain and gnawing fear of not seeing again, to the one who was more than his friend; the love of him no longer platonic of him. A love that, without a doubt, crossed all the limits that a war could impose. A passion that burned, without the slightest expiation of consummation. A distance that was the paper guillotine, before the feelings of these two desperate young people to see each other once more. "Remembering a love", the wish of those who one day dream of being happy with the love of their life, even when the whole world turns upside down, including a world war on board.
Chapter 8: Epitaph
Sicily, Italy.
November 1, 1943
Eugen:
In this war that has taken so many lives, without asking what were the dreams or desires we had? Wordless, cold, where the voices we hear are laments, pain, sadness; a solitude that, like a cloak shelters us in the cold. We will wonder if we will embrace those arms of those who love us again.
Running seeing worthless pointed bodies... Who will mourn them at this precise moment? He wonders how many were left behind? I wonder, what is the right of death that, in the blink of an eye, snatches us from our body, leaving us cold? The indigence of who is right and his methods are enough for us to depend on what is ordered to us, not returning to our homes, because the homeland is now forgotten.
Who will speak of value and our interest? Will they ever thank us? Seeing the epitaphs that are erased, flowers that will wither, graves that the dust will cover. Our weapons are enough to save the lives of those around us.
How many will hear our cry? Or will it comfort in the winter? In the long days that, only a cup of coffee and a piece of bread would be a delicacy. Wash our clothes, stained by the red of our companions. The prayer to our God, who looks at us on lonely nights, in the tone of some voice that only rises, clinging to life, while we run in our dreams.
This is the letter of a brave man who, for many, will be unknown. Only 19 years old, someone who died, torn to pieces by a grenade and this was his book, where he wrote to his mother; the bravest young man.
My love, I ask you to do everything possible so that this letter is published, it is the least we can do with this brave soldier. I praise your effort and the time you have waited for me, not leaving those who trust me, I do not owe it my beloved lady, because you are my pillar. How I miss you! And I hope to see you next summer, to hold you in my arms so that your prayers comfort me. Your letters that I kiss and cling to my being.
Always yours, Patrick.
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