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Hi Clara,

Sorry I'm writing you in this way, without we have talk about that before. I know you're problably mad at me, but I think I can explain.

No, I can't. Truth is, each time I give some tought to it, it becomes more confusing, always the same obssession and ideas coming over and over and over, like a river were you are each time deeper, sinking, without air, in panic. I've been feliing bad lately, and each time it is worse. I try to look behind, find the initial point where it all fucked up, but i can't see it. All I can do is retrocede more and more in my childhood lokking for an incomplete answer. Then I go deeper, deeper, each time more, like a mud pit.

I can't believe anything anymore. I can eat no food. I hid my poems between my clothes, with a bottle of vodka. If my parents find it they kill me. I'm getting mad, Clara. Night and day, I feel the fever, my pulse going faster, my breath heavy and painfully convulsive.

I got get out. Stay here only worsens it all and makes it more painful. I gotta return or sink alone.

I would like to tell you, Clara, that I avoided you to pretect you, but that would be a lie. All I know is it is confusing, and deeper, and I'm afraid.

I beg you nothing, nothing, I would like to be able to apologize. Don't run away from me now, Clara, that's what I want. But I want also that you stay a bit away from me untill I put my mind straight.

I don't know the way, altough I have walked three hundred years in this labyrinth and the only place I came is to a trap. I felt. I felt badly and I can't get away.

I'm starting to think I'm a coward, like daddy always said. I would like that. It would be an answer at least.

Write me

Anacreon

Anac,

I really don't know what to tell and I can't even comprehend it all. Sorry, I can write no long letter like yours and it is already a month past. I'll await a new letter from you, or for you to come see me.

I only wrote to tell you I'm here.

Clara

Clara,

Hi. I received your letter like a dead man sentenced to lived. I didn't know what to think. I loved, became afraid, hated, cried happry, all at the same time.

My head still bad, but now there's a noise, it mekas lighter. You make me suffer. You hurt me more than anything in the world, but you are the only reason for me to keep living and avoid the so wished end.

I wanna see you again, but I know it is impossible, because I'm broke, no money. Mankind became an abstract concept to me, but I still love you.

I'm looking for a fine place to live, no one knows yet. Do you still see the others? I miss them too, but i forget easily. My days are weird, sometimes in agony, counting each passing second and sometimes they pass without anything special. Sometimes I just stare the walls untill is dark. When I sleep I can't remember the day and when I awake I can't remember the dreams. I only know that my dreams are agitated and I have a lot of nightmares. Not childish nightmares with monsters, but disturbing ones. They cause me terribly agony.

I suffer. I suffer, Clara, some passion for something. Something unnameble, unspokeble, unreachble. I know it is a passio, not only for you, but for more.

I suffer and love, Clara

Anacreon

Anac,

I don't know whether you letter clarifies or worsens a lot of things. I love you too, in the same way you described in you letter. I'm working all nights and sleeping during the mornings, money is short around. But as you have my address you can come here anytime.

Kisses,

Clara

Anacreon,

Sorry for what happened. I need deeply to talk to you. It went all wrong. I don't know, big shit. You await so long and then this shit happened. Sorry, this should have occurred.

Love U,

Clara

Clara,

I found the place to move in. But I'll have to wait two months. I'm trying slowly to return to life. This week I started writing again. Two poems, bad poems, I confess, at least I'm trying. I'll keep them with your letters, like I promised.

This all is taking me much time, I'm sorry, I have to go away for a while. Perhaps someday I'll visit you again. I keep remebering that Thursday. Perhaps it is fate that mekas two people find themselves but avoids them to get together. I don't know, no idea, and I'm starting to wonder if I really wanna know or find out.

Anacreon

Clara,

I love you. I love you more than I could say or write. I don't know why that seemed so hard to see.

I'm going there next week. Wednesday, so that we won't have that Thursday surprise again. I'm moving. I got thousands of plans and ideas, but none certainity so far. I lie, I'm sure that I'll never let behind my vodka and my box with my poems and your letters.

Kisses,

Anacreon