Author's note: I posted by mistake an incomplete version of chapter two. Sorry!!!

                          Read it now and, please, REVIEW! I really really need to know your opinions.

CHAPTER 2

- LETTERS, GHOSTS AND SMELL OF COFFEE -

Dearest Rory ,

This is one of those nights when my mind is restless, it creates ghosts and fantasies and the longing to write, the urgent need to write, makes my breathing laboured.

Here I am, looking  for you in this californian moonlight, wispering my thoughts in the darkness, talking to you, that tonight are filling the air of the room up.

You're here,  like an immaginary creature, an enchanted spirit, an evanescent presence whose rustle I feel around me, among my thoughts. I hold my hand out to touch you, I can feel your skin skimming mine, your soft smell of coffee, your quiet breathing.

You're here with me, burning in my mind like an eternal flame, and once again I realize how much I need you and love you. How much I hurted you.

I know how stupid and pathetic and useless it can sound now, but still, I do love you. And it hurts.

You're a blow of life in this sleepless night.

You were a blow of life in my all life.

I look around and I can imagine your contour: you're coming closer, gently, you're drawing close to me, tightly.

Silence.

Our heart-beating. Time stops. Warmth. Magic.

I like to think that probably you're dreaming of me too, that all these sensations are a sort of contact of our souls. I wish it was this. I wish things between us were not that messed up.

Stay. Stay like this. Just don't fade away. It is our peace of heaven.

Flawours. Rustles. Whispers. Hands interlacing in neverending games.

Slow, deep, intence.

Here my love is, stronger than time, stronger than distance.

Complicity. Friendship. Understanding. Lips tasting each others. Enchanted moments.

Skin: your own, my own.

Here I am, once again, loving you as stronger as I can.

Warmth. Freedom. Eternity. Magic. Mistery. Love.

Love.

You and me.

Like an eternal flame burning in my mind.

But you don't know that, and I'll never tell you.

                                                                                              Jess

He looked out of  the window, the sun was rising. A smell of coffee were coming from the kitchen, bitterwseet like his words.

He got up, carefully he folded the letter and put it in a book, in his green bag, with other books, with other words for her, carefully folded. Words that he wasn't going to tell her.