“I believe in the Archangel Gabriel. But, you see, he appeared ... in a different guise. I know for sure: I was just taken by the hand. For the first time in many years, I closed my eyes. I felt peace in my heart. I no longer need to look for a road. I always close my eyes when happy. This closes the doors of the breadbaskets. Crowded breadbaskets. You are in me - gracious bread.
Yes, I will hurt you. Yes, you will hurt me. Yes, we will be tormented. But such is the lot of man. To meet spring is to accept the winter. To open up to another means to suffer alone. (Like ridiculous phone calls, telegrams, and returning by high-speed aircraft, people have forgotten how to live by their presence.) In the 13th century, the Breton sailor never separated from his bride for what remained to wait in distant Brittany. She was just beside him. At the hour of sailing to Cape Horn, he was already in a hurry to her. And I, without fear of making irreparable grief, surrender to joy.
Blessed is the coming winter. I am not asking to relieve me of the pain. I ask to save me from the dream that has bound me in love. I don’t want any more even days not knowing about the seasons, I don’t want meaningless rotation of the earth, which does not lead to anyone, does not lead from anyone. Make me love, Become me as necessary as light.
I know how many restrictions exist for me, I know how often I plunge into non-existence, I miss. I know how many obligations, barriers, contradictions I have. Imperfection itself. But this is only material. Nothing that now everything is in disarray. Be the light, grow the tree. My favorite, so long ago I did not utter this word. It is sweet to me, as a New Year's gift. You know, last night I felt like a worker from a black soot-suburb, who suddenly saw in front of him a flowering meadow and a stream with white stones. I immediately shut my eyes to save a wonderful vision. My fresh trickle with white stones, singing my water, my favorite ... Antoine "
“Yesterday I sent you a letter and suddenly got scared. You haven't called. I thought you didn't like it. I do not know, the right, that you thought, but, believe, in him only tenderness. Take a gift from me: I promise you never to lie. Of course, about something I keep silence. My memories belong to me alone. Abominable, if confessions become a betrayal. But I don’t lie to you, even with all the significance of omissions. My heart became light and clear. I will not darken this light by politics. Never.
I'll tell you the truth right away: I had a lot of love stories, if you can call them love stories. But I never betrayed meaningful words. Never said just like "love", "beloved", just to inspire or hold. Never mixed love and pleasure. I have even been cruel, refusing meaningful words. They broke lips three times in their lives. If I was filled with tenderness, I said: “I am full of tenderness”; but did not say "I love."
I told you "love" because it is true. I have no doubt that I will never tell anyone else this again. Insights of the heart are rare. I met love, maybe the last. In my life, this does not change anything, but it is true.
I'll tell you one more thing. I am rather secretive and do not talk about those long-standing commitments that cannot be done away with. If you later find out about them, do not think that they arose after our meeting. I deeply honor a revived heart. I'm terribly awkward, I'm confused, but I do not betray love.
This letter will seem to you, perhaps even more ridiculous than the previous one. More ridiculous and meaningless. But I grope for a language whose words would speak about the essence. I do not cunning with spring and wonders. What is happening to me is unusually strange. The best thing you can do for me is to put a good Samaritan woman on my forehead.
I am frayed, unhappy - heal me.
Blind help to see the light.
Issokh - make generous in love.
Don't hurt me too much without much need and save me from being able to hurt you.
Be always in the world
“Honey, I am lying, sick and unspeakably happy about it. I seemed to have plunged into childhood and I do not answer for myself. I have an ice pack on my stomach, a belladonna in my stomach, and I enjoy a respite from the plot of betrayal. It is not easy to wait for every second spasm - a line, another line, another ... Both processes are extremely similar to each other. I'm not working now. Stealing rest, while undeserved, illegally provided to me by the beladonna. But I do not have enough complaints and consolations. If you were with me, I would cry - certainly false, because I would be so happy for you! And you would have taken my tears seriously, but not too much, patted my ear, put my hand on my forehead, smiled. You would caress me with joy and would not annoy me, right?
And I so want to love you. Now I am completely calm, unusually sweet and lying on a pillow completely hand-made - but recently, dreaming about you, I was terribly angry at imprisonment. Sleepless nights of debt. And when you are alone, the desire does not fade. So you imagine, you imagine, but I will never tell you anything. I am dying of thirst. But again the pains began, and this evening I am absolutely sinless, I myself am tender. And how good it would be to feel your hand on your forehead. Amazingly good, my love.
I have an attack of cholecystitis, and not the first. My gallbladder is worn out from the lack of water in the Libyan desert. But I think it would be better if you regret a little, and I still complain a little. So it will be much nicer. Small troubles are more pleasant to me than the big ones that are waiting for me. Conflicts, efforts. I have the right to escape from the concerns of adult life for a while. I have the right to inconsolable grief and your consolation.
My love, believe me, in fact, I will ask you for no consolation at all, but peace of heart, without which I can neither live nor create. And more light, milk and honey, which you all shine: you unbutton your dress - and immediately dawn. Dawn, my joy, my love, I need to get enough of you.
You know ... desire, it did not fall asleep. Meek baby on the pillow - the picture is very deceptive. My thoughts are not so innocent. If you just put your hand on my forehead, I grab it and you are caught. Be on the alert, I am cunning and cunning. I lay with my eyes closed to give you courage, but really. I just covered them and watch you. If you come to bed too close, I will hold you with both hands like a tree and will not miss the sweet fruits.
Darling, I can not be silent anymore, let's talk about something else. I promised I would tell you everything. Last time I let you know that I’m afraid of something, it happened against my will. I told you that my life is not easy. There was a long day trip. Of course, I can not say with whom, but I can say: it happened. On the one hand it was very warm, and on my side it was bitter and depressing. Sad comedy. Honey, it was not my fault. How to leave without making too much pain? I have already ordered a lot in my free life. I want to be kept and bound by you. There was a last confusion, I thought that I had behaved very cleverly, but they flew to help me, having taken silence for despair.
May your hand work wonders. Put it on my heart and pacify him, on his forehead and give a little wisdom. On the body and let it belong to you.
“My love, a disgusting telegram came from the secretary of the Canadian embassy, I will be received only on Wednesday, ready to hang myself. I can not without you. I am desperate, full, descent. My love, my beloved, I have found thanks to you peace. I found shelter in you. I gained confidence, and now I am tormented by waiting. I hurt, I exhaust. I am not with you day after day, I break all my promises, though not by my own will. I deserve to forget about me. I deserve to wait no longer. Deserve loneliness. And I, though I cannot cross the border without a visa, I love you more every day. Every day I am becoming more miserable. I even forgot to write to you. Cruel to see heaven and immediately lose.
“My love, my beloved, my love, I am so excited, so desperate that I mixed up all the cables. I look like a drunk man, I swing from side to side, I do not understand why, why. I'll still send you the cable I was going to send.
I love you too much, no doubt. I suffer with my whole being. I am sick of waiting. I need you. Needed. Like air. Like daylight. I beg you, when we see you, hug me. Lull it. Reassure. Help. It’s unbearable for me, and it has become even more unbearable since a bad joke was played with me, beckoning with peace and happiness, and then depriving them.
I beg you, love me when I get back.
“Strange, I just can't get through to you. And I wanted to read to you everything that I have gained in recent months. And I also wanted to tell you something that is very difficult to say. For some time we saw very rarely. Think about me what you want, but do not blame indifference. This is not true.
In Canada, we are waiting for the liberating telegram from minute to minute, waiting together, my wife, with whom the case suddenly brought me together, and me. It so happened that in my absence she printed out your telegram signed with the full name. I did not immediately find out about it.
And when I found out, I felt guilty. Not in relation to her (with her we live apart for a long time). I am guilty before you. It is unbearable if suddenly compromising rumors crawl over me. I can hardly persuade her to be silent, especially under such circumstances.
I swore by all that I could, tried to obscure the meaning of the telegram. He insisted: “We haven’t seen each other for a long time”, referring to the alibi (it always made it difficult to put up scenes of jealousy). All this is disgusting, it is hard for me to write to you about it, squabbling crippling love. Stupid, vulgar, stupid accident. So I explained to you the reason for my inexplicable restraint. I was waiting for a break. I was going to tell you about it a hundred times. And he did not dare. I was unbearably ashamed. Can I not protect you?
I told you everything. I wanted to say everything. It seemed to me that you shut up deliberately, and therefore I can not get through to you. Although it is quite possible, I just have no luck. Probably will not and try again. I have never been intrusive. I respect even what I do not understand. Well, I wrote everything. Should have written.
Ridiculous planet, ridiculous problems, ridiculous language. Maybe there is a star somewhere where they live simply.
I kiss you with such longing.
“I'm in a stupid position. I wrote you a few words, catching something imperceptible, weightless like air. Quite possibly, an unexpected feeling deceived me. But the letter could inspire you the idea that writing me home is not worth it. And I, having received nothing, am writing to you again. I felt your love so keenly, despite all the difficulties in life, that I could not accept silence because of a misunderstanding - if it was.
The previous letter was not clear in any other way. It was not about the need to fear "my home." In the "my home" for the past four years, everyone lives his own life.
If your silence is a figment of my imagination, I'm just a fool. And I am still glad that I did not hide anything from you. I had to make this confession. I do not disown from anything that comes from "my house."
If your silence is not an accident, explain it. I will not dispute your decision, I honor the rights of another. All right. Yours in particular. Your answer will be a sign of respect for me. I am not one of those subhumans who, insisting on their own, fall asleep with telegrams and are able to torture to death with telephone calls. I think you don't doubt me. You and I are of the same breed. I recognize my from afar. You are true to yourself too. I think the telephone silence is not for us. We will be ourselves.
I insist on an explanation only because for me the unbearable thought is: you are offended because of a misunderstanding or mistake. We live in a disgusting time. Everywhere dirt, it stains everyone. I can not transfer that it will touch my personal. Blurs. My universe is not of this world. Nothing from the outside will make me change my mind about you. If I cannot reconcile with the fact that the external world distorts your inner world, then only because it is full of deep tenderness. Because in my eyes, nothing can reach you. My friend is always to the right of the surrounding world. I gave him the right to be independent. I am at home tomorrow, on Monday. Call me between eleven and three. If you agree to have breakfast with me, call at 11 and wake up (call a little longer, this night I work). Later, I may be busy. We will go to a quiet cafe, whatever you want. I want to read you what I wrote. I need it.
If you don’t call, I’ll stay with my bewilderment, but I’ll never disturb you again. The reason for the bewilderment is simple: honestly, I understand that it is impossible to live with me, but in all other respects I have not made a single movement, have not said a single word for which I could blush.
Keep my promises. I do not value humiliate what I value.
I say goodbye. There is nothing more to say.