NOSTALGIA

A letter arrived the other day
From an old friend,
Saying that she was walking by a pier
And thought of me and that she missed me.
She said that the cold and foggy day
Was what she remembered me by                         
And how we went back to my place and
I played the blues for her on my old gramophone.
That she sat on the steps to the loft and
Cried for no reason, just because she felt like it.
I made her hot chocolate and put a blanket about her,
It felt good; she said and fell asleep on the couch
Later that evening, we had enchiladas and beer
And I walked her home, she said, but she walked back
With me to mine, because she didn’t want to be alone.
The next morning, I left at four to be at work by six,
At a clinic across town, and
She woke alone and let herself out; she said.
“I felt lonely all that day, because I hadn’t told you,
That I was leaving for Europe that evening,
And we didn’t say goodbye except on the phone.” She said.
That was the last time we saw each other, she repeated.
It was many years ago. So today,
Walking by a foggy pier on a Mediterranean coast, she remembered and
Found this old address of mine and wrote to me to say that she misses me.
“I hope this letter reaches you and finds you well. I am doing very well and am just feeling nostalgic.”
Her letter was forwarded to me and found me. It was not signed.
Odd thing, I hardly remember the nostalgia of hers, nor do I recall her name.
It was long ago. Maybe after I dust the memories and read her letter again. Maybe?