I am writing this to you in a complete impulsive state of being. That's why it is in English. Time has passed and made a man out of me whose impulses are not his own language. Shit happens. Thus this time so far away from what I expected.
While ago, a friend gifted me the book "love in the time of Cholera" trying to point out to me there are tales in literature in which people like me are depicted.
While I was reading it, I was cursing the poor Marquez that how could you be so damn dark. Such and such love tales over romanticized by happening in such dark doomed days.
Then shit hit the fan! The time of Corona! Very sarcastic way for the mother nature to put it! with a name that rhymes.
In these domed days of Corona, I think of you a lot. The wild imagination made me wonder about you; if you are performing a kind of magic with your delicate hands to cure the ones in need, or if you are using your wittiness to fool the hopeless to have hope, even if you yourself know it's foolish to have hope given what's around us.
I have a lot to say but not sure if you have time and mind to read. therefore let me end with the main reason that I wanted to write to you. It's beyond words the agony I feel for that I can't do a thing for my people in need. This is driving me crazy.
I know there are many like you who are working restlessly and I wish I could send my gratitude to all of them. Though its very heart filling and fortunate to know some one so ریشه در خاک who is one of them. I wanted to tell you my thoughts are with you and wish you strength, health and patients.
Be well my love.
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