Those who study probability say that destiny is merely an accumulation of statistical coincidences. Yet, when two lives intersect across oceans, time zones, and shared silences, numbers yield to something far more powerful: the stubbornness of the human heart. The story within these pages’ springs not from idyllic fiction or a perfect romance that fades the moment the book is closed; it arises from the purest reality.For You I Will Fly chronicles a love that dared to defy geography and build bridges where the world offered only chasms. With disarming honesty, Anthony Donoghue immerses us in the journey of two ordinary people who discovered that loving sometimes requires becoming survivors.Throughout this narrative, the reader will not find a path free of thorns. Here, the vulnerability of intercultural relationships, the weight of distance, and the cold scrutiny imposed by illness are laid bare. It is in those dark moments—when giving up seems the most logical and sensible course of action—that the work’s true thesis emerges: the strongest bonds are forged not in the absence of storms, but in the unwavering decision to endure the rain together.Written with the author’s soul and profound sensitivity, this book guides us along the path of a love story that shakes the very foundations of the heart. It strikes a chord not merely through its harrowing authenticity, but through the characters' composure, their joy amidst adversity, and an unwavering bond—forged by an implicit pact of love—that grows stronger in the face of life's trials.
Set against this is a constant backdrop: a sort of mystical ritual performed by the Central Park dance skaters. They seem to channel mysterious, invisible energies toward the protagonists with a sense of pure, playful innocence—an act that goes unnoticed by the world around them yet undoubtedly transcends it.Prepare yourself, reader, to embark on a flight without a map. As you turn the page, you will discover that distance is merely a physical measurement and that, when the desire to build a life together is genuine, one can always find the wings to start anew.
"Written in a style that is distinctive, authentic and relentlessly life affirming, the authors enthusiasm and positivity is infectious. I challenge anyone to read this book and not feel better about the world and its inhabitants." - Steve, United Kingdom"A gorgeous and compelling telling of an unlikely love story. I was reminded that despite tremendous odds, love can endure enormous obstacles." - Ida, New York"A lovely book. Romantic, moving, passionate, heartbreaking, powerful and uplifting. It deeply touched me." - Barry, New York
TRANSLATED INTO FIVE LANGUAGES
AUTHOR
Anthony Donoghue, originally from Ireland, has lived in New York for 26 years. He is a professor at Columbia University and published author. He has published three editions of his book on critical and statistical thinking, written for the general audience.For You I Will Fly is his first novel. He lives with his wife Vivian in New York City.
CHAPTER EXCERPT
Patrick walks briskly down 42nd Street towards 9th Avenue, weaving through tourists and locals bundled in coats and scarves. The street is filled with the light and excitement of the holiday season. He checks his watch. 6:25 p.m. He takes a deep breath, lets out a long exhale, and crosses at the light on 9th Avenue. Ahead: The Pod Hotel, tucked on the corner.He stops near the hotel entrance, facing the street. His hands rest in the pockets of his coat while his eyes are lost in the scene in front of him, and the people walking by. He takes uncertain steps and turns his gaze towards the doors. A woman appears. It's not her. The instant repeats itself: another silhouette crosses the frame, and this time he knows it without hesitation. It's Paola.A white coat wraps around her; A black hat shadows her face, and under its brim, a dark strand of her hair peeks out. Their gazes meet, and the world seems to stop for a moment. She advances towards him. A smile. A handshake: restrained, almost shy, but with genuine warmth.“Hola.”“Hello.”Their first hello.When I saw Paola walking towards me, I was hit by the first impression that she was lovely. Her smile was beautiful; her eyes were welcoming and kind. Her face was adorable. Everything about her demeanor was lovely.A brief silence. They smile, caught up in that sweet discomfort of not knowing what to do. A nervous laugh spreads between them like an invisible bridge. Then Patrick raises his hand, pointing toward Times Square.“Times Square.”Paola nods, still smiling. They turn and start walking, side by side. Close. Their coats nearly brushing. They glance at each other as they walk, exchanging small looks, half-shy, half-intrigued. They cross over 9th Avenue. As they approach 8th Avenue, Patrick gestures with his left hand.“We turn left onto 7th Avenue. Ok?”Paola smiles at him, amused.“Ok.”She continues to look at him with a curious smile. He keeps talking, nervously, before catching himself, remembering she does not understand. She just keeps looking at him, smiling and amused.She likes me. I can tell. There is no pressure to say the right thing. Which, for me, is a Godsend. Just stop talking.He remembers how, in the distant past, when he was a young man, nerves would turn him into a babbling mess — words tumbling out fast and clumsy. He senses nothing much has changed. But tonight he does not need to say anything. He just needs to walk. To relax and be present without the pressure of having to make conversation. Let his actions speak for themselves.They stop at the corner of 8th Avenue, waiting for the light to change. Paola glances at Patrick. She smiles softly, entirely at ease. They share a look. Something quiet and mutual passes between them. No translation needed. The light changes, and they continue walking.As they reach 7th Avenue, Patrick smiles at her as he points north.“Times Square.”Paola nods with bright-eyed approval. They turn and head north toward the bright lights of Times Square. The crowds thicken, the energy around them building. Digital billboards tower over them like moving paintings, the air alive with color and motion.Paola pulls out her phone. She smiles as she starts taking photos; everything around her is a spectacle: a group of tourists poses with a man in a Spider-Man suit. A trio of street dancers takes the stage, and the crowd cheers. Massive LED screens light up the entire square. A saxophonist plays Sinatra under a glowing billboard.She turns slowly, capturing it all, eyes wide, face lit like a child in wonderland. As she is taking it all in, she smiles at Patrick, and he smiles in return. Patrick steps back slightly, just watching her. He takes a deep breath and completely relaxes. He can see she is enjoying their first date. He just needs to relax and go with the flow.They begin to leave the lights and crowds of Times Square behind them, now walking north along a quieter part of Broadway. The rhythm of their walk slows. Patrick points ahead.“Central Park.”She smiles, nodding — her face still glowing from the excitement of Times Square.“Ok. Bueno.”As they walk further uptown, the street empties and the noise fades. They glance at each other now and then, exchanging quiet smiles.There is a rhythm between them now as they walk. Something gentle and wordless is passing between them, a kind of poetry without sound.They reach 59th Street, turning right onto Central Park South. Across the street is the park. Dark and vast, speckled with warm lights between the trees. Above, what looks like a full moon. They pause at the corner for a moment. Patrick gestures toward the crosswalk. He is suggesting they go for a walk in the park. She hesitates. There is a flicker of concern in her eyes. Patrick sees it immediately. Their eyes meet. He gives her a soft, knowing smile, a look that says it is okay, I understand. Paola nods in appreciation. Patrick pivots, points east toward 5th Avenue instead.“Fifth Avenue.”Paola’s face lights up.“Ah, sí. Quinta Avenida. Súper.”They turn the corner onto Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel. Paola’s eyes widened with delight at the majesty of the hotel and the sight of all the holiday lights on Fifth Avenue.She pulls out her phone, moving a few steps ahead. She snaps photo after photo. The Plaza, the lights of Fifth Avenue, the crowds, the carriages waiting by the curb. Then she turns back to Patrick, smiling. She gestures — a selfie. Patrick laughs, a little surprised, but then nods ok.They lean in together with Fifth Avenue in the background. Paola raises her phone and clicks. She lowers the phone and pulls up the photo. They both look. Paola smiles. Patrick smiles at her, then looks again at the photo — and lingers thoughtfully.I saw something in the photo I had not seen in a long time. I looked happy.
About
Why I chose the title For You I Will Fly (Por Ti Volaré) for my novel.
I wrote much of this true-life love story as I was experiencing it. The ending I wished and hoped for was Paola taking one last flight from Santiago to live with Patrick in New York. As I wrote each chapter, I imagined a movie in my mind with music always playing an important role. On the morning Paola took an important flight, if not the last flight, to New York to be with Patrick, she sent him a video of the song Por Ti Volaré (For You I Will Fly) by Andrea Bocelli.Now it may sound like I might be giving the ending away. However, this story was always more about the journey than the destination. Thankfully it has a happy ending. Vivian, the real-life Paola and I, are living happily together in New York. The obstacles we faced and overcome, taught us to value every moment of every day we have together and never forget that we did it for Love.Vivian suggested the title Por Ti Volaré. When I translated Por Ti Volaré to English for the first time, I knew the title was perfect on many levels. Yes, the title captures the many long flights we took to be together, but its meaning runs much deeper than that. It is also a poetic declaration to another human being, who has captured your heart and soul. No matter what, For You I Will Fly!