Trane Thermostat Baystat 38

friend Amada

When I started writing on this blog, in this mailbox open, unsealed envelopes, I wrote Jo on April 9, 2008, just one month before your birthday, not the novel Little Women Jo, if not my Jo, the friend you are and be real. This was the letter:

Dear Jo:




sometimes years make in time to recreate the events of yesterday. And does not escape me, the feeling that came between the two. A friendship, sublimated in the love of God, a friendship that united us in a team that until today, although none of you know, although the years, the distance and silence, we have separated, there will always be in me, you were without my knowing it, a love of soul that was forever in me.

never understood in these years as teens, so find the horizons, orientations, genders, you were a flower that touched my life leaving the purest of perfumes.

I loved beautiful, with clear eyes, holding hands and with the embrace of love that never says, because it is known to exist, because no one knew what it was.

Wherever you are, dear friend, you are my love in search of my own being.

___________

And today, March 26, 2011, after trying to find you by all means, to trace your footsteps, I hear you.

Now I understand, because my soul has long been unable to take flight into your horizons, when you always told me that our friendship was one of those rare and beautiful, one soul in two bodies.

touch you from long before I, twenty-three years ago, and I, knowing nothing, thinking you had left the country, you went to the land of your husband, your beautiful children. But no, it anclaste you deeper into the earth and walked away without warning.

Today I rain the soul, the left side and my eyes look at you like those little girls who were dreaming of missions for the love of God.

I love you more and friend, for me still living beings live where I love and who left this dimension to be happy forever, or to wink and maybe support us at crucial moments of life. I've been traveling, and we find ourselves in a bend of the way everlasting.

I do not know how to finish these lines, I see the keyboard ... until now ...

I

.


PD .. Betty Joseph, rest in peace. Our tree is still standing,