Dear Antonio,
I saw a poster of you today in the cinematheque. You looked strong and passionate, a beautiful young starlet cradling her head beneath your chin. I forget the name of the film, I have been having trouble reading English these days. The words just don’t want to work for me.
Will you do something in Spain again? We all have been wondering. Madrid misses you. She hasn’t said it, but you can tell. We studied La Ley De Deseo the other night. She cried thinking of Nacho cradling your bloodless body in his arms. I think Nacho misses you, too.
I know it is a sore subject, but I wanted to ask about Pedro. Were you in love? Was he in love with you? Those memories of the Matador, he embraced you so sweetly. But some years later, his gaze moved you from the frame. He turned his eyes to las mujeres, and his passion so strong, we began to think that your romance was but a phase. But then we watched Gael stretch his lean wet body for him. Pedro’s new carino.
Now you are in Los Angeles, and they love you. And Pedro is in Madrid, and she loves him. But we sit in the dark, and dream of your reunion.
I’m sorry, I had place to ask you these things. I hope all is well.
Sinceremente,
John
***
Dear John,
No one writes letters anymore.
Antonio.