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March 3rd,1984.

"Hey Mike!

How is everyone doing in Hawkins? I recently just moved in Virginia,and I have to admit that the weather is kind of hot here,for early March.People are accepting me at school,and I made some friends pretty easily,but I don't forget you;which is the reason why you receive this postcard.I miss both you very much,and treasure each memory my mind manages to keep very clearly.Do not worry about me;and don't be sad about me going out,okay? We will see each other again very soon,I promise you.I wish you could admire the beautiful sunset and eat these nacho cheese with me,probably kidding about how the landscape looks so dry,or boring.You pretend like you can't appreciate the beauty of nature,but I can admire that astonished glint in your eyes.Are you staring at the orange skies,or glaring at how weird my nose looks like?
Oh,my dad is calling me in order to..Make some pie I think? I'll catch you later.
El."

-§-

July 20th,1986.

"Hey.
I'm gonna make this short,because I've been pretty down these times.
New York City is not like at the television.Or at the postcard.That's why I only sent you a blank,black piece of paper.This shit hole is changing me a lot and I don't appreciate it.The kids here are terrible.They pretend like I don't even exist,just like the teachers and pretty much everyone in this stupidly ridiculous high school.Everything is just so grey,so monotone.Even the skies don't allow me to see the moon at night,the pollution blurring my sight and thoughts.The girls are all wearing this ridiculously big and impressive jewelry.The boys smoke only to look cool,and enjoy breaking poor girls' hearts.Is this some kind of unpleasant joke,or am I the only reasonable person in this whole city?
I hope everything is going fine on your side.
Enjoy the bike rides and the junkyard,because reality is nothing else than cruel,Mike.
El."

-§-

October's 13th,1989.

"Bonjour,Mike!
I don't think that I could ever feel better than in here.This city is incredibly beautiful,inspiring.People live off black espressos,(just like you loved them),and haut-de-forme's,gentleman wearing black suit and ties and handing off transparent umbrellas to damsels in distress under the rain.My writing major couldn't be any better;I am so grateful for this impressive scholarship this school offered me,only because they thought I had talent.They promise me a future,in some kind of ways.The uniform is beige and brown in the autumn,matching all these leaves falling near the Tour Eiffel.If only you could see how gorgeous this place is.Save some money,would you? We haven't seen each other for what? Four? Five years? Does your hair still look like raven puffy popcorn ? Do you still wear the yellow shirt I offered you?
Here are some polaroids I took in the city.You didn't think I wouldn't share all this beauty to you,did you?
Kisses from the city of Love.
El."

-§-

April's 19th,1992.

"Hello,Michael.
This letter..It's different than the previous ones.It's not bad,it's not good news.I thought I could just stop answering your letters,but that's now the person I am,or the one I became.
I have to say goodbye to you.
I know this had been a beautiful,long-lasting correspondance.
Exactly fifty one letters lay in my drawer,smelling like lavender,roses,dry oranges slices and everything you joined to your letters.
You put so much stars in my eyes in moments when I needed it that I had to give you a final thank you.
A final thank you from California,where I decided to settle,with my partner.We've got this beautiful appartement just by Santa Monica.We enjoy cocktails on our balcony,we throw tennis balls to our lovely golden retriever on the beach.He loves me.
He isn't you,Michael.
But I have to get over this.You're breaking my heart while trying to warm it up;each of your messily written word reminds me how you're not there,how you're,we're stuck in this,in these endless postcards and ink pots.
I can't do this anymore.I've tried,so hard;you have to trust me.I know you will.
This is my last postcard;and yes,that is me.
I wonder how messy your hair looks like,at the moment.
Salty tears and seawater.
El. »