If brief, better

     I am on old dying man, eighty-four years old with an unaccomplished promise. I barely walk and my tongue twists as my left hand shakes as broken fan. In my days I dreamt about writing poetry and essays -I just wrote a number of academic prose with the sole purpose of getting degrees. I am self-secluded in this countryside not-much-worthy little house with a minimum of contact with the outside world. I ended up here on my own responsibility and it is time to go out to finish what is still undone.
     Once I had a lover who wanted to be abducted from her irrelevant life (or was  I the wanted to be kidnapped?). I didn't do it. It was long time ago. I wonder if I am able to do it and bring my lover back here to wait for the expected lady-in-black. There is small, ridiculous problem: I don't know for sure where she is. I think she is back to her native country, which is also mine. I haven't been there for the last forty years. I ceased to be what I was, even my native language makes me some unexpected turns.
     How can go there after this absence and commit a crime, even if it is a love crime? But I have a plan. I will go there, book in the cheapest hotel, and begin walking around to see if I can run into her. I hope I will. She always finds a way to find me. I will look aside when I glimpse at her. She will recognize me because I'll be speechless and run away... as always ... to keep the promise broken.