I always would like to write letters to the person, the most
important and expensive. To the one who will feel as I to think as I
and to understand all those trifles and things imperceptible at first
sight of which all consists ours lives. Those things which, despite
the external insignificance, are the most expensive and it is shrill
the important.
Unfortunately, the century of information technologies has brought
such convenient and such callous communication media during our life,
that about the usual letters written by little bit clumsy handwriting
on lonely scraps of sheets, all have forgotten. They have disappeared
somewhere, having left about themselves only gentle memoirs. And after
all in them feelings are expressed most brightly: in a paper rustle,
in a smell of pages, in smiles of letters, in uncertainty and
bashfulness of blots. Letters speak more than words because «the paper
does not redden» and gives freedom of dreams to the sender.
But it is impossible to blame in all only the "advanced" world
rushing forward by seven-mile steps! More terribly another: to write
there is nobody, never, there is no need … Sometimes at night to me
terribly to realise, that the dreams, ideas, pleasures simply could
not share. Then I lose sense to think. And the truth, what for to you
of idea if them it is impossible to inspire anybody, what for dreams
if they cannot be divided with anybody, what for feelings if them
nobody can be rescued. To live for themselves … I do not know … We and
so too often we arrive so. What for also to feel for the sake of it?
And still in my head one thought which did not give me rest before
recent time was born: why not to write in anywhere? In other words, to
the unknown addressee? Finally, it is not too important, whether
somebody or who it … will be simple to share the feelings with hope
will read them, that it is necessary for somebody or even without it -
too original happiness. So there was this diary: a sad result of my
lonely reflexions about happiness.
Actually, I would not like at all that these lines sounded so
melancholy. My mood, more likely, opposite. I feel unknown freedom and
simplification of that has received at last possibility to express all
those thoughts which intertwine in my head already long time.
Well, my lovely friend, I hope, you will read these naive and lovely
letters, and they will present to you some minutes of serene reflexion
about a life, happiness and love …
Seiten: [1] 
Elvira <elvira-r00@rambler.ru> (Gelesen: 7833 mal)
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