Today  I write something about loveletters.
There are drawers full of loveletters. There are books full of love letters and correspondences. Today they are extinct, the loveletters. They are dried up, torn, chopped, blown away and find their way into the digital world in crumbs at best.
I decides to write some again. And not take it it to serious, if they get wings or an life of there own and take off.
Or even are not being real at all.
Or full of projetions.
They are aloud to be like that. I have decided taht this is better, than no loveletters at all. Better than letting them die out.
That’s not how it works.

Sincere, your writer

*Aus BRIEFE AN DIE WELT