It's Easter, but for me it's just another boring weekend. I just wish I could be with you, I've been feeling much too empty. I think about you constantly. I miss you to much Lea.

Easter is coming my love. Remember what we used to say about Slovak traditions? How I miss you…

This night I had a really strange dream of which I remember some parts. A young woman was dead, bloody, totally naked, beautiful, inside a cardboard box. I was leaning over that box with the young woman inside, and suddenly the room door opened and some children came in. One of them approached me and pinched me in the arm, and I did him the same like I was coming out from a trance. And all along another young woman was watching my movements, my reaction, controlling everything without a word… Was it you inside that box Lea? Was it you controlling? Was it you pinching my arm? Was it you at all? I miss you so much…

Every time I need to call someone and go through the contact list of my cell phone I see your number, and your associated picture there… And sometimes I stop only for some seconds, and imagine how good would be to call you right that moment and hear your sweet voice on the other side! I can’t erase your number Lea! There’s no point in either erase or maintain your number, so no action is needed in this regard. And that’s good, because I just couldn’t erase you from there. I rather hurt a little every time I go through that contact list; I rather miss you…

When we are young we dream about so many things we wanted from life, and then we grow up, and some of those things come true and others don’t. But we tend to old on to those happening, and if we happen to loose them along the way we feel like we’ve lost everything, because really there was never nothing we wanted more. You were always one of my dreams Lea. You’ll always be.

I think the first love is well over-rated! I think so much has been written throughout history about the first love precisely because it is the most identifiable one. Many more can happen, but the first will always be just one.

How could anyone ever write about the last love? How could one know it is the last? Of the last love we can only have a glimpse, in a moment of tragedy maybe… And sometimes, not knowing it is the last, we desire with all our blood and guts that it may in fact be, or that it had been the last, only to honor our companion, only to do her justice and, by so doing, try to tell her one last time how much loved she was.

My sweet Lea, I’m young still, and maybe you won’t be my last love… But I just want you to know that I would have loved it if you could have been... I miss you…

I feel empty. I just miss you Lea.

Bosk