He was quite smug when I loved him. Especially since he shot my love from floor to floor and broke my heart like a tyrant. The bitter words that poured from his lips; so much so, that even today I could not forget. What a smile it was , it’s worse than poison. At all events, I would be torn to pieces, my eyes would be crimson from crying. I’d get tired of the dark, black nights without him, full of him.
I cursed myself with regret, thinking about the day I said my love, I hugged my pen and wrote to him those long verses of mine that hate embraces with love. I used to say that it was my destiny, the childish love of my fifteen.
How he used to laugh when he wanted to… with his most meaningful looks, he would first hope, and then he would go all alone to the edge of a cliff. I am desperate, I am tired, I am tired of this love. Oh, he would have known that I would have burned alive without his mercy, as he did so… in the freezing cold of February; I don’t even know today what I found in him. But in those days, the purpose of my life seemed to me to exist.
Was it childhood, or was it the pure passion of my youth, this attachment to slavery, these storms that break from the inside, this insane burning? Who knows, maybe it’s the endless whim of a heart that needs to be loved… I never asked him for anything. Just love… yes, now, many years later, I’m thinking about him, for the first time with pictures, memories on my lap. The weather is cold again, the gloomy eyes are in my eyes again, the love is in my deep heart. I thought I had forgotten, it turned out that I was deceived, I cried for hours. This is his “death anniversary”. embraced by the earth on the 17th, it is the story of the oppressor told. A melody is broken, hopeless…
At that moment, when I was filling the room without you, my heart is still empty, my head is still smoky. A wail echoed full of pain exactly 15 years ago today in the empty countryside. I ran to class like crazy, the queue was empty. Every corner was as desperate as I was. I approached the queue by talking to myself; “You cannot die; You are my dear, you are my love, you are my labor, hate your wish, make fun of my feelings, I won’t be mad at you, but please be a lie, a bitter joke. Yes, yes, you’re doing it to upset me. I miss everything… God just let me see it for the last time,” This prayer went on without you many times until I heard the insidious smell of death inside me. I sobbed and sobbed and kissed the name you scrawled on the line. Then, I searched every corner to find something that belonged to him…
It’s just a crumpled page, it’s faded. The writing is his writing. It was a letter, every line of which was carefully written, perhaps very painstakingly … I was very surprised, the letter was addressed to me. I read every sentence with a longing that grew in my heart, especially that first line… so much so that I can’t forget it even today, I cry as I read it. “A person shoots his loved one from place to place, my dear, FORGIVE ME !!!…”