I know so well how you hate letters: “Written kisses don’t reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts”. Unfortunately I can’t make it to Cuira… I regret so much. The night air will be icy in november.
But one endless night I will drink you and your warm kisses for real.
Don’t feel concerned, my dear Franz, that I suddenly write you in English and changed my style a little…, don’t doubt it is me,