Then I saw GERRY's funeral.
Turns out HOLLY lost him.
She came home with his ashes, dialed his cell phone over and over again, and cried and curled up in the quilt to listen to his messages.
Weeping.
Then HOLLY's thirtieth birthday, received the package he sent her, the tape he gave her, and wept.
I love her red plaid skirt and red heels.
She saw the happiness in his letter PS I LOVE YOU
The postman's frightened expression, the girl in the bedroom asked me, are you crying or laughing? I cried and laughed.
The beauty of Ireland.
It was love at first sight and I forgot whether she met him who was five years older than her when she was thirteen or fourteen.
Married him at the age of eighteen, and at the age of twenty-nine, he died of brain cancer, and wrote many letters to her to let her out of the grief of his departure.
Those auditory hallucinations and hallucinations were just because she thought he was always there.
And I always remember the urn she was holding, exquisite, he made for himself.
...
well, well.
It is useless to say that those sad feelings can only be experienced by looking at them.
PS I LOVE YOU
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