It did not matter, if we saw each other or not. Even when years went by without any contact, when we met again, our past got immediately alive, and all those undefined feelings got back. She played with me the same game with long breaks for six years. I think, I got back to her four times and we restarted four times, always with the same intensity and with the same end. She quit everytime cowardly with a remorseless, humiliating long, long, long letter. She destroyed the love, which she feeded. This insolvable riddle of WHY? accompanied me during my whole life (well, it was worth to live long enough, since shortly I could solve it though). So I was not surprised, not at all, but much more relieved when her last letter arrived. It did not require any answer. I didn’t hate her anymore, I didn’t love her anymore. I ripped her letter into little bits, together with all the others I kept so long, and burned them up, before I moved from Hungary to Vienna. Those letters weren’t destined for external views. We never spoke about what happened between us, with us. She passed away 1995.
CROSBY, STILLS & YOUNG • HELPLESSLY HOPING