An open letter from the narrator in Without a Kiss to her friend.
My dear, you who must remain nameless. You wonder why I break my silence now, half a century later. I do it because autumn is fast approaching. I feel frost in my bones. I cannot take another vanishing, silent withdrawal. Ghosting, they call it now. I had no name for it back then. But we are not ghosts yet. So before one of us departs, I want to say you were loved. Maybe not loved as I love those closest to me now, but loved longest. You entered my life first. I did not choose that order.
The memories are few. Our time, limited. But your gap-toothed smile and the twinkle in your eyes remain. You have been missed and remembered, every birthday, every Easter, though there could be no resurrection for us.
You may or may not wish to say goodbye. That is your choice. It was always your choice. But this time, I will not stand by helplessly. I will "not go gentle into that good night". Now I choose, and I choose life, while it remains. So happy 70th birthday, dear friend. I give you these poems you inspired, In memoriam. And still Without a Kiss, goodnight!