"Une bouteille à la mer"

Un très beau livre, une histoire très belle qui m'a tenue en haleine. L'ayant lu en italien, langue de l'amour, elle m'a vraiment touchée !

J'ai passé deux nuits à le lire parce que je ne pouvais pas m'arrêter :-p

Les lettres sont magnifiques et très émouvantes ! Quant à la fin, elle a le mérite d'être imprévisible...  

Un film a été réalisé mais je ne l'ai pas vu personnellement car je me suis faite ma propre image des personnages et j'ai peur d'être déçue...

Voici le résumé:

Seul sur son bateau, un homme lance une bouteille à la mer.
Au gré des vagues et du hasard, la bouteille aurait pu finir sa course n'importe où, et le message qu'elle enfermait ne jamais être lu...
Mais elle à échoué sur une plage de Cape Cod. Et transformé la vie de la jeune femme qui se promenait là. Theresa, journaliste et mère de famille divorcée, découvre, bouleversée, la plus belle lettre d'amour qu'elle ait jamais lue, la lettre d'un homme à la femme de sa vie, qui vient de mourir.
Dès lors, elle ne pense plus qu'à retrouver l'auteur de cette lettre. Connaître son histoire, voir quel visage se cache derrière ces mots qui ont éveillé au plus profond d'elle-même un sentiment qu'elle n'ose pas encore nommé...


Voici l'une des lettres reprises dans ce livre:

July 22, 1997
My Dearest Catherine,
I miss you, my darling, as I always do, but today is especially hard because the ocean has been singing to me, and the song is that of our life together. I can almost feel you beside me as I write this letter, and I can smell the scent of wildflowers that always reminds me of you. But at this moment, these things give me no pleasure. Your visits have been coming less often, and I feel sometimes as if the greatest part of who I am is slowly slipping away.
I am trying, though. At night when I am alone, I call for you, and whenever my ache seems to be the greatest, you still seem to find a way to return to me. Last night, in my dreams, I saw you on the pier near Wrightsville Beach. The wind was blowing through your hair, and your eyes held the fading sunlight. I am struck as I see you leaning against the rail. You are beautiful, I think as I see you, a vision that I can never find in anyone else. I slowly begin to walk toward you, and when you finally turn to me, I notice that others have been watching you as well. “Do you know her ?” they ask me in jealous whispers, and as you smile at me, I simply answer with the truth.
“Better than my own heart.”
I stop when I reach you and take you in my arms. I long for this moment more than any other. It is what I live for, and when you return my embrace, I give myself over to this moment, at peace once again.
I raise my hand and gently touch your cheek and you tilt your head and close your eyes. My hands are hard and your skin is soft, and I wonder for a moment if you’ll pull back, but of course you don’t. You never have, and it is at times like this that I know what my purpose is in life.
I am here to love you, to hold you in my arms, to protect you. I am here to learn from you and to receive your love in return. I am here because there is no other place to be.
But then, as always, the mist starts to form as we stand close to one another. It is a distant fog that rises from the horizon, and I find that I grow fearful as it approaches. It slowly creeps in, enveloping the world around us, fencing us in as if to prevent escape. Like a rolling cloud, it blankets everything, closing, until there is nothing left but the two of us.
I feel my throat begin to close and my eyes well up with tears because I know it is time for you to go. The look you give me at that moment haunts me. I feel your sadness and my own loneliness, and the ache in my heart that had been silent for only a short time grows stronger as you release me. And then you spread your arms and step back into the fog because it is your place and not mine. I long to go with you, but your only response is to shake your head because we both know that is impossible.
And I watch with breaking heart as you slowly fade away. I find myself straining to remember everything about this moment, everything about you. But soon, always too soon, your image vanishes and the fog rolls back to its faraway place and I am alone on the pier and I do not care what others think as I bow my head and cry and cry and cry.

Signé, F.=)