the tears of theresa; an unfinished love story

before she left the room, theresa, her long, black hair tied into a bun, took a one last look at the sleeping paolo. she lingered at his handsome face, at the well-sculptured nose, at the long eyelashes, at the small, closed mouth. those lips that made her swoon in ecstasy last night.

in a month, she will marry paolo's father, the sixty-nine year old businessman, who owns half of the city's real estate, as well as several restaurants, hotels, even a taxi fleet. paolo, who is her first love, does not know it yet. but soon he will and she hates the thought that she will be breaking his heart.

quietly, she turned off the light and closed the door. outside it was still dark. the beach has calmed down now. the waves were turbulent last night and the rains were persistent, won't stop. the howling winds have also quieted down.

there was a storm signal last night, but they decided to come here to paolo's family's beach house to be alone. to share a night for the first time since they became sweethearts a few months ago. his father, of course, had no idea that they were together, that theresa has already surrendered her heart, her soul and every fiber, bone and hair of her body to paolo.

the car that paolo drove last night was parked beside the nipa hut where they spent and shared the stormy night. she will never forget that car. it was here where paolo first kissed her, on both cheeks first, then her closed eyes, her trembling lips, her heaving heart. these are the things, the only memories, that she will take with her to the altar.

the sand was still wet, but she didn't mind. she walked barefoot. her slippers were damaged last night when she slipped and paolo, her arms around her, promised to buy her a new pair of slippers, sandals, shoes the next day. she smiled at his gentleness, at his innocence.

while walking towards the gate of the resort, she remembered what she wrote last night, while paolo was already asleep, on a letter that she left on top of the small side table, where a tiny lamp was resting, a silent witness to how she lost her virginity to the only man that she will love for the rest of her life.

this is her last letter for paolo:

"growing up poor, with barely enough food that i and my eight other siblings could share each meal, i know that i don't have any right in this world. that includes the right to happiness. that's only for rich people like you.

i could never marry for love. such a luxury only belongs to a privileged few, paolo. when your stomach is aching for food, when the roof above your head is not enough to shield you from the rain or from the angry sun, then you forget about love. the instinct to survive is all that matters. the only one you listen to.

forgive me paolo. i love you. you are the first man that i've loved and will probably be the last.

like you, i have dreams. not for myself, but for my family. i want to build them a nice, stable house. not a mansion like yours. i want to send my siblings to school so that they will have a brighter future, unlike me who barely finished high school because i have to work at your father's department store to help buy food and other basic needs.

please don't cry. please don't despair. most of all, please don't hate me. you deserve someone better, a woman who is as educated as you are, who comes from a good family like yours, someone who will not be embarrassed to eat at a fancy restaurant and can pronounce those difficult words on the menu. someone who can choose whom to love because for her, it's not a matter of survival. it's her birthright.

from : the tears of theresa; an unfinished love story.