Women of The L.O.M. (Love Letter)

I didn’t of course, once again, catch my plane on time; I think I was about three or four days late before heading out. But the night before I left, as if a was living a nightmare or had just awaken from a dream, I walked into the café after having come in for the evening to have my late cup of coffee, which sometimes is from sunrise to sunrise, where I then looked around the place, (and a room that, as I said, has equally as many women as men sitting there, talking, eating, drinking, they don’t serve alcohol; a soft drink or tea, etc., playing video games or sitting with friends, and quickly, though I wouldn’t, and where at least until this very moment, say this is one of my ulterior motives for frequenting the place; to see a beautiful face) when I suddenly realized that there wasn’t one single woman in the café. I thought it peculiar as I sat there and tired to ponder on this event, but couldn’t figure out why, nor could I, maybe because of the shock, ask any of the men that either worked there or were sitting there as usual, where had they gone; though they seemed not as surprised as I was. I took it as an extraordinary coincidence, and went up to my room for a few hours before deciding to go out for supper, knowing that I would have gone back to sleep and have awaken from the nightmare that I was now having, and things would have returned back to normal.
For some reason, though still shocked, I was not surprised that it was one of those dreams that you don’t wake up from as I surreptitiously glanced into the lobby of the café while either deciding to investigate further or let the momentum of confusion pull me out of the door as I still tried to put together the pieces of this dilemma that would have to change, at least, I’m hoping, by the time that I left the next day.
That evening brought with it the same dilemma as the previous evening, as I’m still now forcing myself from one room to the other; from the café, to the lobby, into the elevator and sitting myself down and staring out of the window for answers, but this time the birds brought me no comfort, and the next morning would not release me from my torment of not seeing a group of women that I had so quickly, though it has been almost a year that I have been visiting there, fallen in love with.
Tonight I found the pictures of Nanya, her sister Noora, and Mary and placed them on the wall, along with replicas of Van Go and Gravure, that I bought in Holland, pictures of my sisters: Brenda, Barbara and the rest of the family, but could not find the answer to my tormenting dilemma. Ironically the night before this finale of occurrences had taken place, I sat there at the table on side of the bed, farthest away from the window, speaking aloud; reflecting on what had happened up until that very moment, and even how would I reflect on it in the future; a year, two, ten, even twenty years from now, the time that this small group of women and myself had shared, and the unforgettable bond that had been created, and ironically made the statement “That after they had all walked out, after they had all gone, after the last one had closed the door, I’ll still be loving you (Nanya, Noora and friends); That’s why.”