Letter no. 1

“Dear love of mine, 

The lights shine so brightly when you’re not around. You had them collapsed within your eternal beauty, shut them down with your dazzling eyes. In Australia however, I have come to realize that even the stars are blazing, not having you to compete and put them in shame. 

To you, by yours truly, Jennie.” 

Letter no. 34

“Dear Rosé, 

I’ve been busy lately, but I still think of you right before I fall asleep, exactly the second I open my eyes and during those brief moments when my mind falls in blankness. I still send these letters to your old address. You never reply, but I like to believe you read them. Do you? 

To you while I’m still yours, Jennie.” 

Letter no.56

“Dear Roseanne, 

I’d break my fingers before I picked up the pen to write one more line to you. It pains me to be yours. 

See you when I see you (if I ever do see you), the one who once was yours, Jennie.” 

***

They say Rome is the city of lovers, the place where even the most empty, shallow souls become dyed with the color of pennies thrown in fountains with the hope of having wishes come true. They talk about Rome as if it wraps polyester skin in silver and gold, as if it fills teared up eyes with wine and cures chapped lips with honey. They talk about Rome as if it can set people on fire, taking sweet pleasures as it burns them in the process. And the millennial question still lingers in the streets…Who set Rome on fire? 

The wind was sharp as a knife, cutting my skin and dancing a messy tango with my hair, not caring how the cold howls of it caressed the edges of a broken heart that somehow was reminded of lost lovers, fallen eyelashes that didn’t bring to happy endings and unread letters with velvet envelopes. 

I lifted my hand to wipe that unnecessary tear that was rolling down my rose flushed cheek when I felt the light touch of a soft ribbon teasingly playing around the ripped jeans I was wearing, firstly touching my skin and then, almost abruptly as if it was scared of contact, rolling around the blue denim. 

It was pink, the ribbon, with little black embroidments, a soft rose scent taking a journey with the wind from the soft material to my senses, lighting the first spark. 

You see, that’s how it starts. Rome wasn’t burned over night, you could probably feel the murderous smell of gasoline for days and weeks before it happened. 

“Jennie?” the voice was soft, sweet and caramel, my name rolling off of her tongue still stuffed and bubblegum pronounced, as if she was chewing on the words while saying them. 

I didn’t want to turn around.

“Hey, Jennie,” I couldn’t see her, but I knew she smiled, her cheeks puffing like a chipmunk and her eyes lighting up like the explosions of the sun.  

Eventually, my body stopped listening to my mind and my knees buckled as I turned. I couldn’t feel the wind anymore, the edges of that broken heart had gotten sharp and could cut deeper. 

“Hey,” I barely said, voice stuck in my throat, tangled with tears, a whole existence of mine chocked in a pink ribbon that I held on my hand as if my past would shatter if I let go. 

My eyes drifted from hers and I looked down on the embroided letters. Jennie Kim. I had lost it in Seoul. The ribbon. I had lost it in Seoul fifteen years ago. Exactly the last time I saw her. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, voice bubbly, but with a hint of nostalgia, melancholia even, as if she was trying too hard to pretend we could still talk. 

“I-I’m on my way to the end of the world,” I said. 

She smiled. That’s how Rome was set on fire. 

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she chuckled, pouring gasoline all over the flames. “Would you like to get coffee? Catch up on everything like the old days?” she asked, but she wasn’t waiting for an answer. I wasn’t willing to give one. By the third blink of my eyes I was sitting in front of her in a coffee shop. 

“How have you been?” I mumbled, sipping too quickly on my coffee, tongue being patterned with the slight burn. 

“Managing. I’m here on a business trip,” she answered, the same smile dancing on her lips, but then it stopped and it all collapsed in silence. Comfortable silence, loving and quiet, the feel of being home at the end of a restless day. 

I would’ve believed we’ve been running through galaxies in search of each other and now we’ve finally found what we didn’t even know we were looking for. We found Rome, built in bricks and pain and we’re dressing it in marble and unsaid words. I would’ve believed it, if I was still waiting for eyelashes and pennies to make my wishes come true.

“I read your letters,” she burst out of nowhere, my attention going from the bubbles of my coffee to the tears of her cappuccino eyes. “You’d send one every week, right?” she chuckled between tears, as if it wasn’t slightly killing her. “I didn’t read them until the 21st letter came. They scared me, you know? They pained me. I must’ve eventually ran out of tears, but I don’t remember ever stop crying.” 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I quickly added, “I was young and dumb and-

“I love you,” she burst out again. “and I don’t know what to do with it.” 

I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Rome was already on fire and a bucket of water wouldn’t save it. 

“You left for Australia. There was a whole world willing to give itself to you. I wasn’t going to keep holding your hand when you could hold the universe.” 

She smiled again, the same bubblegum girl I had lost in Seoul smiled at me as she leaned in a brushed her lips past mine. For a brief second I saw bright lights flash before my eyes, we kissed, we loved, it felt as if it lasted forever, but darkness was eternal and it didn’t take long for it to collapse again. Even her light couldn’t cut through that.

“Can I have the ribbon back?” she asked between tears with half a smile. “You already have my heart for the rest of this life Jen. Maybe for the next one too. Let me at least have your ribbon.”  

She smiled. I smiled back. Rome burned so good for so long, its ashes were gold, pure poetry.