I am trembling as I write this.
I recognized you, although you didn’t recognize me.
It’s a wonderful miracle: I’m your [prisoner] number 72.
This letter will be delivered by our children.
You will not recognize them because they are beautiful,
but they know who you are.
Through them, I want to tell you: you’re still alive.
But soon you’ll be quiet, I know.
Because everyone is silent before the truth.
Signed: the whore of [cell] 72.
I am speaking to the son, not the torturer.
Whatever happens, I will always love you.
That’s the promise that I made to you at your birth, my son.
Whatever happens, I will always love you.
I’ve searched for you my whole life, and then I found you.
You could not recognize me; you have a tattoo on your right heel.
I saw it and I recognized you, and I found you beautiful.
I breathe to you all the sweetness of the world, my love.
Console yourself because nothing is more beautiful than being together.
You were born of love. Your brother and sister were also born of love.
Nothing is more beautiful than to be together.
Your mother … prisoner number 72.
My loves, where does your story begin?
At your birth? – Then it starts in horror.
At the birth of your father? – Then it begins with a story of a great love.
..
I say that your story begins with a promise that breaks the thread of anger.
Thanks to you, it’s a promise I’ve finally managed to keep.
The thread is broken. And I can finally take the time to rock you,
and softly sing a lullaby to comfort you.
Nothing is more beautiful than to be together.
I love you,
Your mother.
Incendies
