find, romantic

i ll write to you to assure you of my eternal love....oscar wilde*

yesterday petit fleur wrote about her hard way to get a new drivers license and during the process of getting her papers together she found a love letter...which reminded me on my own love letters...i have a few...long ago i was a good man..long before my desasterous breakup with X i was a good man..a good partner...and from then..from the before..i kept my letters..not only letters..i have a box full of photographs..movie tickets..picture postcards...corks of champagner bottles..opened together...flight tickets...metro billets..buisness cards of restaurants ...opera tickets...shoppinglists of teh evenings were we cooked together...letters from fortune cookies...down wrotes of text messages...as well as photographs of messages left on hotel bathroom mirrors after a wild night...its all there..headstones of my past..of my love...proofs that i was someone else back then...its a travel through time..like counting down the days..and i always wonder why we write love letters..why do we write them to one lover but not to the one before..or the next one? and why cant we let them letters go even though we arent in touch anymore with the person who wrote it? maybe because its sometime sthe mask..the way to wrapp up and hide..the most beautifukl..and most difficult three words...

one very special letter i recived years ago..without a name on the envelope..so its anonymously...still loved the words...it might dont sound so well in translation..but in german its a very poetic piece of work...

dear danielle
with you i d like to ...
walk barefeet on the beach while the sun sets, the air smells like flowers and music plays quietly from somewhere far...
pick berries at noon on a woodglade..while bees sing, we can smell the moist earth and all we hear is the silent cracking of branches...
to have a big , blue & white tiled, kitchen, with a huge old cloistertabel, one end covered with scripts and books, while the other end of the table is used to clean the vegetables, to lard a rabbit, to peel apples from the garden, drinking redwine and listen to boccherini...
be in harry´s bar in venice and try every cocktail hemmingway had there...
driving a cabriolet on the most sunny day over the curvy mountain passe sof the swiss alps...
make plans for a rose garden, read books about old rose breeds, choose the most beautiful ones and pic them up with a small truck at the breeders garden...
to skip work for a day and go to see casablanka in the afternoon show..together alone...
collect mushrooms on a octoberday in the rising morning mist...
having breakfast in a small cafe after a grandious blues session in a crowded and smoky blues-bar...
get lost in sohos thickest fog while you tell me everything about jack the ripper...
pick plums, peaches, apples and apricots..get matching booze an dliquors and cook them into the most tasty marmelades...
lay in front of a open firespace and read to each other from our favourite books...
spend a warm summers nighgt at the pool of a cottage in tuscany and listen to old songs of dean martin, elvis, marilyn monroe and pat boone...
with you i wanna unite all our bookshelves...forget the occassion,get lost in the books, stucked reading the best passages and fight over which books are meant to stay and which books have to go.......


i recived that letter many years ago..maybe 12 or 13 years ago...and even though i dont know who wrote it..its one of my favourite letters ever..because it matches my taste 1000%..because i did everything discribed in it allready and would love to repeat them..maybe because he reached me while i planned a trip to tuscany...or maybe just because i feel like the letter was written by a soulmate..by someone who is like me...someone who is as passionet and wild as i am...someone who is fully alive..aware of the wonderfull things in life...oh and everytime i read the letter again...of course i do it according to the protocol: redwine and boccherini