MY07

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.

Remembering a love

How comforting are your words and the well-being that they cause me! In dreams, having the face of my gentleman who, with such dedication and depth, arrives in a sea, whose waters wash away moments of solitude, and which seize me for not having you. In these beautiful meadows of walking, I tread on the dry leaves and play with the little stones that I find along the way.

I cling to the dialogue I have with my inseparable friend, who takes care of me; their verses and songs, almost magical, enveloping me in the smells of flowers and the innocent faces of the fawns that shyly hide behind the trees. Blue cloak, of this wonderful sky that surrounds us, whose eyes catches us, wanting to know every thought, my love.

You can get sick with love because, even if there was a medicine, I would reuse it, preferring to die in your arms: not so perfect and in turn, so real that, at every moment as water floods my being, I belong to you, being my refuge.

It is the image only my request, before the reality of my lord, which I shed my tears to have you; wishing you the sweetest. It is not just grace, but the light that surrounds my life, taking your hands and kissing them, taking them to my heart so that you feel each throb and fly like angels. Like a proverb, with those bell notes that are the clarity on the battlefield, where misfortune and pain cause loved ones their departures; the footprints that this story will tell, my lord.

I recommend as a present that, together with you, you wear wool stockings, and honey as my kisses, which are the cure in the middle of the battlefield.

Who loves you from a distance, Eugene.

Chapter 6: An Open Heaven