Another year has passed, and the NYU Gallatin Writing Program has released a new volume of the Literacy Review, which is a collection of writing from adult education students throughout New York City. Last week, one student from the Adult Literacy Program read her story at a special party to celebrate the new Literacy Review’s publication at NYU. Her name is Larysa Frankiv (pictured above), and she is in Professor June Foley‘s writing class here at University Settlement. Read her brief bio and her story below:
Larysa Frankiv was born in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, and raised in Lviv, Ukraine. She has a son, Vitaly. “1001 Letters” is about her husband, Lyubomyr, who died in an accident when they were both 26, and their son was not yet two. Larysa Frankiv studies at University Settlement’s advanced writing class, where Michael Hunter is the director of the Adult Literacy Program. She enjoys many sports, especially running.
(TO MY HUSBAND, WHO DIED AT 26)
My Dear Lovely Friend,
I wrote you thousands of letters, and I will never stop. I have never sent them to you. I don’t know where you are. How are you? All the words in the world cannot explain what I want to say to you. I just want to tell you SORRY. Sorry for what? . . . I love you. I hate you. I miss you. Please give me one chance to see and feel you.
Who you are to me, I don’t know. However, I clearly see you every night; in my dreams, you are still with me. You are with me there, but you are so far away. I can’t reach you. I can’t hug and kiss you. I can’t tell you anything. I need you. I cannot breathe without you. I can’t live without you.
You know what? I hate you so much. You kill me every morning. When I wake up alone, I realize it was a nightmare again. I will be reborn one night. I will walk with you in my dream. I won’t ask you for anything. I will have this moment. You will be just mine.
Please don’t disappear. You are my soul and heart. If you disappear, I will disappear . . . Please come to me every night. I wait. I cannot live without you or with you. I am sorry. I couldn’t. I could. I cannot. I couldn’t. Forgive me . . .