Hi
Deciding to compose this note turned out to be more difficult than I imagined.
Sending my thoughts into the virtual nothingness to a someone I don't know is like whispering something crucial into an vacant bottle and throwing it into the ocean, hoping the tides won't lose it.
My existence is not about the busy chaos of a major city, but a quiet provincial town, immersed in the vegetation of yards.
Here, the hours crawl leisurely, like the tune of an aged barrel organ, and when night approaches, the lanes are filled with such a mellow golden light that it feels as if the moment stops to pause for a moment.
I am a doctor.
I care for people... and, probably, a tiny bit of my own inner hurts too.
I have a house, a career, literature everything that is seen as a indication of a quiet life.
But sometimes, particularly in the night, I notice I am sensing... not loneliness, but rather a sense of waiting.
As if the most interesting part of my narrative hasn't even commenced, and I'm still reading again the long prologue.
I would like to find a individual with whom this waiting would finally be substituted with a feeling of returning home.
Someone with whom it would be simple both to be quiet and to converse until sunrise.
A person who can discern the story behind an ordinary expression and listen to the harmony in everyday language.
Certainly, I understand that a shadow of doubt hangs over all of this—can you really discover something authentic where everything starts from a monitor?
But maybe the dynamics have shifted?
Maybe you are the one who will read between the lines not just characters, but a soul?
Yours truly, from the heartland of Russia.
Nina.