Evelyn had spent a week getting used to the area before finally having her first lecture at the university. Subject: Poetry. She came out of the classroom with the first pile of homework in her hand. To be more precise, it was a note, with books the teacher told them to study over the course of this and next month. The books were written by the same authors they would concentrate on for this semester. She almost ran towards the city library in excitement. She had already gotten herself a card for the library on the second day in town. She walked through the isles and collected all the needed books. One had stood out, so she also grabbed it. It was from an author she didn't know yet. A. R. Franklin.
She went back home since the day was mostly over for her.
She would have a much busier day tomorrow.
But it wasn't tomorrow yet.
She sat down after changing into comfortable clothes and made a pot of tea. She sat down and started reading. She was reading until the last bird had put down its head to sleep. Until the last flower seemed invisible.
She was pulled back by the sound of her alarm. Her head was resting on her arms with hair everywhere on where she was sitting. The rest of her body on the floor. She turned off the ear pitching sound and looked around. She didn't know for how long she had read last night. She looked at the page she slept on. She read through the lines.
"She gazed over the water while running her slim finger on the surface. He longed for the back of her hand and dived his fingers in next to hers."
Evelyn looked over the page. It was a well written book, at least as far as she read it. It was the one she had grabbed impulsively. She let her hand slide over the hard cover as her eyes wandered the same path. She looked over to the clock.
She was running towards the lecture, but the door was closed. She knocked on the door, but nobody seemed to hear her. 'How is this even possible?' she complained to herself. She had been late. She walked the hallway down and stumbled over the university's library this time. She entered it without changing her expression. It was empty. The lights turned on as she walked through the middle isle.
She saw subject names written on the shelves and spotted the ones for history and poetry. She moved towards the history one. Eyes wandering over the covers, she felt more and more tired. It probably had been the third or fourth time the alarm had gotten off when she stood up. 'Town history'. She grabbed it and went to the checkout. She lent the book and made it disappear in her bag.
She went outside the campus as the lecture would've been a longer one then normal and she did not want to wait two hours. She walked the nearby street and sat in a café. She opened the book she had read the day before and reread the page she had slept on.
She fell back into the feeling as if she was the person inside the book. It was very well written. Every chapter was a little story for its own. One story in particular had her liking. It was a love story.
"Her father had given me this box. It was filled with clothing, and soap, and more daily utensils. I had asked; "Sir, what does this all mean?" when her father looked away with darkness painted in his face, I understood. I had run outside the salon, far far away. I longed to go home, but where was 'home'?"
She liked it. It was the classic "old" writing style, but she liked stuff like that. She scrolled through the pages until the last one. The lend-cart told her that she was the first one after a student from two years ago that lend that book. Next to it she found two pages glued to each other. Since it was old, they were almost falling back apart. She peaked with her fingers and accidentally separated them for good. A letter flew out. It said 'For my darling' on it. She opened it. It smelled nice. It was sealed with wax, which had a flower symbol on it. Inside the envelope there was a letter and a pressed flower inside. The name and date were stained alongside other major sections of the paper. She read it:
My darling,
I wish to send you the pain in my chess to show you how much I miss you,
how much I long for you.
I wish to be with you for I see myself in the mirror when you stand next to me.
I wish to see earth through the reflection of your eyes.
I long for your skin, for you touch.
I long for the fire burning my skin when I hold your hand.
A fire hotter than the eternal flames of the sun.
I am waiting at your door, never bold enough to knock, not scared enough to hide.
I long for your smell which I would not get enough of give me the time of life.
My darling,
I had looked for home and I found it in you.
I suffer homesick for not a place, but for you.
I wish to live rich with you.
I would proudly call myself the riches man to ever step upon this earth.
I wish to hold your hands and travel the world. A journey where we needn't to read but see with our own eyes, all the worlds' roads.
My darling, oh when will we finally meat? When will I know I have met you?
I am waiting, I will wait even if it takes us more then a hundred years to finally drink our first coffee in your favorite café.
I love you.
Evelyn whipped off her expression. She was outside at a café and couldn't show how she felt about the letter. It was lovely, even though she hadn't expected that ending.
