Weeks ago I entered in a room of flowers and memories.
I’ve let myself dragged by the colourful paper wall in the little room. I took the coup of tea Grace prepared and I jumped from flower to flower, thinking of all the days she spent there writing to him.
Grace lives in a small house in the middle of Wales. She loved “a Russian boy with eyes like ice and skin like snow”, “just like the song” she says. They loved each other, they loved Wales but the world didn’t love them. He left behind a different Grace. “Not a sad Grace” … No! She never cried! She always waited for him! She waited to receive a letter when she named their girl Natasha; she waited for an answer when Natasha married and for another one when Natasha died.
I didn’t want to ask if she still wants to know anything from him. I didn’t want to say I thought that room should be changed, painted… I took my coup of tea and I asked myself if I will ever feel this kind of love.
