Love Letters

It's probably one of the most forgotten fine arts in the world. Not because people almost don't write letters anymore at all, but rather becuase people don't express their feelings the way they used to anymore. That makes IT even sadder reminding the fact that love letters used to have their own, special place in the history. Despite it, nobody reads love letters anymore even if they are written by Guillaume Apolinaire. Somehow, love letters writing became an inconvenient substitute of an in-depth intimacy we're all ashamed about and don't want to let into our awareness. To be truth, I'm including a love letter written by me, as a part of 'Esperanza'. Although I've written some of my own too. 

 I never thought I would fall in love this way, however it happen, one hot day of June on the old market. Back then I thought that I would neve love anybody more than this city, full of stories shared by old walls if only we deserve to listen. I remember this way from the synagogue, running behind the monument and I could even find this single piece of pavement I was passing when the rain falled down. Later it was only the front of the abandoned, old apartment hidden behing the mist of rain on the corner of Waterlane. And later only you, Esperanza. You we're hiding under the green fasade in your floral dress and you we're shaking your broken umbrella. I was watching you through the wall of rain, like standing behind the mirror separating our worlds. That's how I remember you. I carry this image in my heart like a lucky stone, bringing me hope and causing pain like a nail stubbed forever. Where Are you, when you're not here. What do you talk about, when I can't hear you. My questions with no answers, left behind the fasade of Waterlane, where I saw you for the first time. I go there quite often, especially when it rains. (...) 

This is only a part of the letter. Unfortunately I am a writer without any good tool to work. My translation is not the best and my conditions pf work are spartan. Writing is a vocation, blogs are sacrifice.