About a third of its pages were already completely filled with tiny, cramped handwriting. It was my personal diary, which I had been meticulously filling day after day since… since I lost them forever. I took the pen with trembling fingers and began writing carefully on a pristine page.
[December 17]
My hand trembled noticeably as I wrote the significant date. I paused deliberately and took several deep breaths before continuing with the painful task.
[Happy birthday, Alessia]
Once the first line was set on paper, the following words flowed more naturally. It was always extremely difficult for me to decide how to begin, but once that initial hurdle was overcome, it felt as if I were speaking directly to her, momentarily bridging the abyss that separated us.
Today I left work earlier than usual. I promised, remember? On your birthday, I'd definitely leave early to prepare a delicious seaweed soup, your favorite dish.
I lifted my tearful gaze and looked again at the photograph presiding over the desk. Alessia smiled radiantly in my arms, with that expression that could light up any room she entered.
—It's the exact same photograph as always —I murmured nostalgically, as if she could hear my words from some distant place.
—The seaweed soup… was it good? —I asked aloud before carefully noting it in the notebook. I received no response, naturally. There was no real possibility of her returning to my side. She was no longer part of this cruel world. Neither she nor the beautiful daughter we could have raised together with infinite love.
I bit my lower lip hard, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill uncontrollably. If I didn't manage to control myself properly, I sensed that at any moment I would succumb to a heart-wrenching sob from which I might not recover.
I followed the recipe book's instructions, but the final result was strangely bland. I couldn't finish it completely, and more than half remained untouched in the bowl. By the way, the flowers I bought for you today…
I continued writing, recounting the day's events as if I were telling Alessia and our unborn daughter in person. I shared everything I longed to express to them, everything I desperately wished to hear from their lips. Putting these thoughts into my intimate diary gave me the momentary illusion that we were still together, at least for a fleeting moment. This painful routine had become my anchor to reality since the fateful day I lost them irrevocably.
[I bought a teddy bear as a gift for our little Violet.]
Violet… How are you, my little one? Do you like the gift I chose especially for you?
My hands trembled more and more violently as I wrote with increasing difficulty. My handwriting became progressively irregular, and my vision blurred considerably. I lowered my head, defeated, feeling as though I were precariously holding back an emotional dam about to collapse spectacularly.
I want to hear their responses…
I want to hear their voices…
I want to see their faces…
I want…
I clenched my teeth tightly, fighting a losing battle against the suffocating knot gripping my throat. I stubbornly tried not to give in to tears, but it was utterly futile.
—I want… to see them again. Please… —I pleaded to the empty silence of the room.
I could no longer hold back the emotional avalanche. The truth was too painful to express through conventional words. It was so profoundly sad, so utterly miserable, that I couldn't even verify the reality of what I was writing on the paper. I simply wrote, driven by the irrational hope that, somehow, in some unknown corner of the universe, they might receive my desperate words.
—I miss you… —I murmured, and with those simple words, something inside me shattered completely.
It had been just a month since I lost them forever. I had naively hoped the pain would gradually lessen with the relentless passage of time, but it hadn't. On the contrary, as the days passed, the longing accumulated relentlessly like water in a faulty dam about to collapse catastrophically. And now, finally, the tears I had stoically held back for so long flowed uncontrollably like a flooded river.
[I miss you… I miss you desperately…]
I continued writing these words obsessively in my diary, utterly unable to express any other coherent thought. I had no clear awareness of how long I kept repeating that same painful phrase compulsively, but when I finally regained some clarity, I saw that an entire page was saturated solely with those two revealing words.
I wiped my tear-soaked face with hands that wouldn't stop trembling uncontrollably. For the first time since the tragedy, I murmured to myself instead of writing it down…
—In reality… I'm a complete wretch.
I looked at the lines I had written and couldn't help but laugh bitterly through uncontrollable tears. What expression would anyone have if they saw me in this pitiful state? Would they feel genuine compassion for my suffering? Would they think madness had finally conquered my tormented mind?
Either way, in some functional corner of my consciousness, I knew perfectly well that neither Alessia nor our unborn daughter would want to see me in such a state of emotional devastation. I tried with all my strength to stop tormenting myself uselessly and finally headed to the lonely bed, utterly exhausted both physically and emotionally.
As I closed my eyes, a strange sense of momentary peace washed over me. My last conscious thought before succumbing to sleep was that, somehow incomprehensible, I would see them again. And that irrational thought, that impossible hope, provided the only comfort available in my shattered universe.