July 13, 1959
I miss you terribly. It has been too long since I felt your touch, the warm breath on the back of my neck. I ache for you, Colby, and long to relive our time in the hayloft, and the potting shed, and the couch.
I don't know why I mentioned the couch last.
I know you will never read this letter, for you left no address behind when you disappeared back to the future. I do it for myself, I think, to help salve my soul, and the void you left behind. You were the light of my life, dearest Colby. You entered it like a flash of light, in truth, stumbling forward, asking what year it was. Shell-shocked, from the war, I thought, though the war had ended a solid decade earlier.
My friends think I'm a fool for falling for you. They say no man can travel through time. But they're fools -- simple, petty fools. They did not know you like I did, nor did they experience your bizarre language and customs, which could only come from the future. "Yolo swag money, fam," you whispered to me tenderly, and I believed every word of it. You spoke in such riddles, dearest Colby. I suppose you were one yourself.
You left nothing behind but memories, and this strange device you called a phone, though it looked like no phone I have ever seen. It has become my most treasured possession, and not a night passes that I don't take it from my box of keepsakes and cradle it.
Even if it has lost its magic.
Oh how I long for your touch, that could make such angry birds dance! Please sext me back, darling. Did I say that correctly?
Oct. 4, 1959
I have news. I am with child.
It is yours. It can be no one else's. But, oh what to think? Is it a gift, Colby, a treasure you gave me in parting? Or is it a burden? It is both, I think, and it pained me greatly to admit it.
I have additional news. As you know, I am a pragmatic and practical girl, and I have decided to marry another man. I will not raise a child alone, and this man is a stolid and understanding one. He also has a limited understanding of womanly ways. He will raise your child as his own.
Elzbieta Sekowska/iStock/Getty Images
I have attached a picture of him here, for some reason.
Interestingly, he has the same last name as you. I wonder if this was my subconscious longing for you.
Further news. I am angry with you. Even if you never read these words, I hope this letter angers you, Colby. I hope it humbles you. I hope you show some damned glimmer of emotion, like you showed me on the couch that summer that now seems so long ago.
But know that I will never stop loving you.