Un Autre Moi

I received this email a few days ago. It was actually written fully in French, which was the first hint that it might have been sent to the incorrect address. I had the BF translate it (he's fluent) and this is what the letter said:

"Hi, as I have no news from you I decided to write. I learned from Jean Charles that Lionel “packed his boxes”!!! You have thus decided to separate…. I am sad for you two. I dare not tell the children, they would not understand, especially Laureline.

You will pass through very painful moments and I am so sad to be far from you. The distance makes it hard to communicate, yet I think about you often without doing anything which makes it true that I have been selfish.

I finally resumed work on March 9, but I am still not calm. I live with the sword of Damocles over my head. The end will probably be when I have my MRI before the summer and they will say that all is gone, that I have nothing more.

I had not heard any news of Lionel since my birthday and it feels so distant, it’s no longer the same!!! I do not know if your separation will be final, but if one thing is sure it’s that I cannot imagine one of you without the other!

I hope to have some news from you soon. I hug you very strong. Big kiss to Jessica and Chris."

Seriously? Why don't people write like this anymore? Or, I guess this is current, but write like this in English? I feel like I've stepped into a Jane Austen novel. Or maybe Sartre, although if that was the case the whole MRI thing would probably have been more extended.

This email reminds me of when I went to Rome and traveled by myself. I asked for directions from a nice man in his forties, Francesco, who proceeded to show me around to different places in the city on his lunch break. I didn't realize how creepy it was at the time, I can be quite naive, and I gave him my email address so he could send me more places to see. For months after, or actually until my Penn email account was erased, he sent me love sonnets he wrote himself. Some in Italian, some in Spanish, some in broken English. Usually on major Italian holidays that I'd never heard of, and especially, always, on Easter. I never replied to any of them, but I suppose it was romantic in its own, thank-goodness-you-are-on-another-continent kind of way.

 A very sick, inner dramatic side of me almost wishes this French email was meant for me. Since my inbox is mainly full of "hey, u drinking tonight?" or "LOL I have the funniest story for you", or "omg his new gf is so ugly, facebook her and confirm." Not nearly as literary. But then I would have a dying friend who has "the sword of Damocles" over his head, a lover whose left me, and two children. Merde!