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š˜Œš˜­š˜°š˜Ŗš˜“š˜¢ š˜—š˜¢š˜°š˜­š˜°. ([personal profile] dinosauro) wrote2024-07-27 08:02 pm
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fic | november 25th, 1927 (a "lest they leave" sequel)





NOVEMBER 25TH, 1927
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Dearest Nina,

Oh, you no doubt already guessed, I wanted to surprise you, but you never were one to be surprised, were you? Shaking you was always beyond me, although – by God – I’ve tried, many times… You are the one whom I miss, most out of everyone, back in the City of Lights. Since I didn’t call it home then, trust me, I shan’t start now.

Your house was a house of freedom, though, chĆ©rie, and blue skies aside, vast and unrestricted as they may be, Rome simply can’t live up to that little plot of Parisian soil anymore. Much has changed since I left it here. Even more since the time when you led the way out. Would you recognise this place at all? Would you recognise your little star in her current state? A lot of age can weigh on a girl in the span of a few months, believe me! At least I haven’t gone grey like you, cara. I could never wear that look so charmingly. So elegantly. With such sophistication. I ascribe that to your own unique talents.





As you can see, my dear friend, I am in quite a sticky situation. Jobs are scarce as it is and the pay is awful under any circumstances so that during the day, my soft and tender hands must be so rudely hardened by factory work, because as we both know, a girl’s got to eat. You wouldn’t recognise my touch any longer, chĆ©rie, it’s as tough as the balls of a cavalry soldier! Awful, I say. But I live… No, I survive, and today I had two portions of bread for dinner, which made me believe I should celebrate by writing you finally, Nina, you have not left my mind or my heart all this time. While I hackled the price of this rat’s nest of a room, while I had to beg for work, getting offered only bit parts, because no one here knows who Elvira Paolo is, and to be honest, a luxury I can afford with no one else but you, I barely know who that girl is myself yet. Well, while I pathetically persisted, you lived rent-free in my memory. The way some people insist on doing, because they are stubborn and because they are special.





Therefore, I shan’t ask how you’re faring. I imagine, better than me, and that’s good enough, principessa, that’s quite dandy. I simply send you a thousand kisses to distribute as you please, just don’t let them go to waste. Lipstick is expensive and this is my last canister of the good one. I am asked, on the daily, when ā€œthe signorinaā€ intends to marry, and around these parts it can’t that easily be laughed off. Even if not a husband, I suppose I must look for a man to once more provide the champagne and the parties for me, because as well as you, I do miss all that. Only, you aren’t here, and the skies might very well be free, but the earth certainly isn’t. Rather, the floor is lava here. Like all of Italy is Naples now. Like all of Italy is Pompeii.





Send me your liberties, dear Giovannina, and send me your cool. More than any one body that could be named but won’t, I miss them so desperately.

A kiss and a thousand,
E.