The letter for Steven Philips

On a highway.
On a sunny afternoon.
The speed vibrates inside the Mustang. I see yellow and green cars leaving behind us. I enjoy it too much to ask the director going slower. She is wearing green with red hair and we will be pinned to each other in the next hours.
After around three hours we leave the highway-the speed still in my hands.

And then everything runs quickly. The guys were there – at the bridge – before us. Three hmm. The director and I notice quickly that someone is missing but she knows that he will join us later.
We cannot start until then and the leaves are already off every tree, so we end up in a warm room.
Soon the courier arrives with a letter. A small format for Steven Philips. Only then I felt what I should have felt before. The director is as curious as I am, she only lacks any other feeling. Two pages in a rather neat handwriting. A woman’s handwriting. I knew it – already seeing the beginning ”Dear Steven, …”. The director reads it aloud. The words thrill in my head, my jealousy declines and after the two are done I adore her. I admire the way she wrote a letter so lightly, expressing love, affection and longing, and comprehension for his situation.
Without begging.
The letter didn’t have an end.
Only broke off.
Without her name.

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