“Mopeds and letters”


I saw a cute guy dressed in white pants, a black-and-white checkered shirt, and a white sailor’s cap. His smile melted me. I saw him every day about the same hour, usually at dusk. I was in love with him, but he had all sorts of girlfriends, and I just knew I would never be one of them.

He left our hometown three years later to go to boarding school in Portugal, and we started corresponding. In one of his letters, he told me he regretted not having really known me. I would occasionally return to Portugal to visit my family, but I never visited the bank where he was the president, fearing the old feelings of love would return.


Postscript: After he passed away, it was my turn to regret never having gone into the bank to see him.

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