FICTION!!!
Below is a work of fiction! It's another untitled work, but this one is a short story of sorts...enjoy!
I'm standing here at the board in the middle of the town square. It's a wonder that anyone can even find what they're looking for here; it's a clutter of messages and photos randomly pinned up, some without any indication as to who or what they are. But if this is the best place to leave it, then it's where I'll leave it, and hope that she gets it...
...
I remember when we met, at that cafe in Rome. She was absolutely stunning; her black hair flowed halfway down her back, covering up the soft skin exposed by the cut of her flowery dress. I'd heard how Italian women were gorgeous, but I'd never imagined it to be so true! She raised her head, and our eyes met; it felt like she knew I was watching her all along. She smiled, rose from her table, and approached me...
Before I knew it, we were out dancing that night. I'm surprised that we managed to get there; I knew only a scrap of Italian, and her heavily accented English was equally sparse. Somehow, though, we found a way to communicate in simple enough phrases, and that was enough.
We slowly danced to some music that I was not familiar with. The soft voice of a woman singing in Italian, probably something very sad or romantic, and maybe even both. Her head rested on my chest, my arms wrapped around her. She told me that she was tired and wanted to go home, but did not say where her home was; she wanted to stay with me, so I took her back to my hotel room and gently laid her in the bed, where she fell fast asleep. She looked so peaceful and trusting in the bed of a total stranger. I pulled the room's small couch out so that I could use the mattress within for myself, but in the process of doing so, woke her up. No, she said. Hold me. So I did. She fell asleep in my arms, and I soon followed...
...
I remember the last night I saw her. I'd been touring Italy for a full month now, with her as my guide of limited communication but limitless knowledge. She'd point out little villages and towns here and there where we could stay, see what most tours don't get to show you. Great restaurants, beautiful views of the Italian countryside...
It was in one of those little towns where my companion and I were last together. We'd made love in our little hotel room, and she was laying on my chest, her head nuzzling towards my chin. I told her how much I loved her, and asked her to come back to America with me. How I'd never met a woman as wonderful as her, and how, if she'd have me, I would love to marry her.
I barely started the "m" word when her finger touched my lips, and she quietly said Sssh! Sleep. She smiled at me, eyes a bit wet, but I wasn't sure why. I smiled back and kissed her, then fell asleep shortly after she did.
When I awoke, she was gone. No clothes, luggage, anything. She could not have been a figment of my imagination, though, since the room still smelled strongly of her perfume.
I was frustrated when the local police would not help. People come and go all the time, the only one that could speak English said. What's the big deal? Plenty of women out there, right? he said, with a wink. Besides, if she never told you her name, then maybe she was only there to get what she wanted, eh? I told him that there weren't any other women out there, only the one, and that she'd vanished overnight. I was severely heated at his words, and slammed my fist on the counter. Other policemen started to rise, but he waved them off.
He told me that if I was that serious, that I should right her a note and leave it in the town square's board, where everyone left their letters, photos, prayers to those they lost. I could not tell if he was serious or not, but he seemed sincere enough...
...
I put the handwritten letter up on the board with an unused pushpin stuck in the cork. I can't help but feel like I did a terrible job of it, but with only a cheap translating website to help me, it was the best that I could do. I stare at it for a moment, and then walk away.
...
Temo che possiamo non vederci mai ancora, ma spero che troviate il vostro senso di nuovo me. Ti amo più profondamente dell'ho immaginato mai possibile e spero che lo amiate altrettanto molto. Conoscete dove trovarlo, così io sperate you' il ll viene osservando.
Ti amo. Conosca sempre quello.
EDIT: So I translated the letter back and realized how it probably won't translate correctly (it actually comes out rather comically, IMO, but you may want to translate it yourself just so you can get a sense of how the letter would've appeared to the people reading it...), so here's what his letter SHOULD have said:
I fear that I will never see you again, but hope that you will find your way back to me. I love you more deeply than I ever imagined possible, and hope that you love me just as equally. You know where to find me, so I hope you'll come looking.
I love you. Know that always.
I'm standing here at the board in the middle of the town square. It's a wonder that anyone can even find what they're looking for here; it's a clutter of messages and photos randomly pinned up, some without any indication as to who or what they are. But if this is the best place to leave it, then it's where I'll leave it, and hope that she gets it...
...
I remember when we met, at that cafe in Rome. She was absolutely stunning; her black hair flowed halfway down her back, covering up the soft skin exposed by the cut of her flowery dress. I'd heard how Italian women were gorgeous, but I'd never imagined it to be so true! She raised her head, and our eyes met; it felt like she knew I was watching her all along. She smiled, rose from her table, and approached me...
Before I knew it, we were out dancing that night. I'm surprised that we managed to get there; I knew only a scrap of Italian, and her heavily accented English was equally sparse. Somehow, though, we found a way to communicate in simple enough phrases, and that was enough.
We slowly danced to some music that I was not familiar with. The soft voice of a woman singing in Italian, probably something very sad or romantic, and maybe even both. Her head rested on my chest, my arms wrapped around her. She told me that she was tired and wanted to go home, but did not say where her home was; she wanted to stay with me, so I took her back to my hotel room and gently laid her in the bed, where she fell fast asleep. She looked so peaceful and trusting in the bed of a total stranger. I pulled the room's small couch out so that I could use the mattress within for myself, but in the process of doing so, woke her up. No, she said. Hold me. So I did. She fell asleep in my arms, and I soon followed...
...
I remember the last night I saw her. I'd been touring Italy for a full month now, with her as my guide of limited communication but limitless knowledge. She'd point out little villages and towns here and there where we could stay, see what most tours don't get to show you. Great restaurants, beautiful views of the Italian countryside...
It was in one of those little towns where my companion and I were last together. We'd made love in our little hotel room, and she was laying on my chest, her head nuzzling towards my chin. I told her how much I loved her, and asked her to come back to America with me. How I'd never met a woman as wonderful as her, and how, if she'd have me, I would love to marry her.
I barely started the "m" word when her finger touched my lips, and she quietly said Sssh! Sleep. She smiled at me, eyes a bit wet, but I wasn't sure why. I smiled back and kissed her, then fell asleep shortly after she did.
When I awoke, she was gone. No clothes, luggage, anything. She could not have been a figment of my imagination, though, since the room still smelled strongly of her perfume.
I was frustrated when the local police would not help. People come and go all the time, the only one that could speak English said. What's the big deal? Plenty of women out there, right? he said, with a wink. Besides, if she never told you her name, then maybe she was only there to get what she wanted, eh? I told him that there weren't any other women out there, only the one, and that she'd vanished overnight. I was severely heated at his words, and slammed my fist on the counter. Other policemen started to rise, but he waved them off.
He told me that if I was that serious, that I should right her a note and leave it in the town square's board, where everyone left their letters, photos, prayers to those they lost. I could not tell if he was serious or not, but he seemed sincere enough...
...
I put the handwritten letter up on the board with an unused pushpin stuck in the cork. I can't help but feel like I did a terrible job of it, but with only a cheap translating website to help me, it was the best that I could do. I stare at it for a moment, and then walk away.
...
Temo che possiamo non vederci mai ancora, ma spero che troviate il vostro senso di nuovo me. Ti amo più profondamente dell'ho immaginato mai possibile e spero che lo amiate altrettanto molto. Conoscete dove trovarlo, così io sperate you' il ll viene osservando.
Ti amo. Conosca sempre quello.
EDIT: So I translated the letter back and realized how it probably won't translate correctly (it actually comes out rather comically, IMO, but you may want to translate it yourself just so you can get a sense of how the letter would've appeared to the people reading it...), so here's what his letter SHOULD have said:
I fear that I will never see you again, but hope that you will find your way back to me. I love you more deeply than I ever imagined possible, and hope that you love me just as equally. You know where to find me, so I hope you'll come looking.
I love you. Know that always.