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Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/273654-To-Where-My-Love-Sleeps
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Rated: GC · Book · Personal · #549308
When I die, this is all that will remain of me.
#273654 added June 26, 2005 at 9:03am
Restrictions: None
To Where My Love Sleeps
I met Kate. I have Amy's diary with me. I've read it. I'll talk about it some other time. But I will say on thing. Her last entry tells me what I needed to know so badly:

25th Jan 2001
He replied! Wow, such a big mail! I've printed it out. I haven't even read it. I'll read it and send him a reply which will end in three bold red words: I LOVE YOU.
*


26th Jan is when the earthquake happened. In the morning.

Reading through her diary was terrible. All I kept thinking of was all the good times; the way she's written about everything she experienced since she came to India... about the brotherhood (she called it 'brohood'); about Sonya, about Wally, about me... about that fucked up farewell day; about everything before it and everything after; about herself. The way she signed each entry at the end with her charming signature. The way she talked about the sand castle; about 'what KC called his first official date'; about India... about beauty.

Reading through it, I think I fell in love all over again. That is, if I ever did fall out of it

Kate said it was okay if I kept the diary. I am.

Sitting there with Kate in that old diner was so frighteningly like sitting with Amy. Kate looks like Amy in just about every way. Even though Kate's about three years older. The same smile; the same calm elegance.

She said that her father just lost it after the quake. He died of a coronary last May. She's living with her grandpa and grandma now.

Kate said she tried to forget it, and couldn't. She said that it was not fair. She said that it should've happened to someone else. Then she cried.

I'm almost a complete stranger to her. We've probably talked four or five times before the phone call--most of it while picking Amy up along with the rest of the guys or while dropping her off. Amy's journal must've told her something about me... but that's not entirely right either. I'm not as good as Amy saw me. I know I'm not. Amy had this way of seeing beauty everywhere.

But she cried. All I could was put my hand on hers, and avoid bursting up myself.

I asked her where Amy rests. She said she'd take me there if I could go today. That she was going there herself anyway.

I'm going. To where my love sleeps.

PS: Thank you, PITA. You know why.

© Copyright 2005 The Ragpicker - 8 yo relic (UN: panchamk at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
The Ragpicker - 8 yo relic has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/books/entry_id/273654-To-Where-My-Love-Sleeps