My soul is frozen, like a piece of ice awaiting for the holy Spring to come and bring it back to life. It’s winter now, the dreadful season that takes you away and leaves my heart broken and longing for you. Dearly, carefully, I keep the petal you gave to me when we said goodbye, when you allowed the mild wind to carry hope on its wings and lay it smoothly on my soul.
I’m feeling sad now and I’m thinking of the past, remembering the moments I spent deluding myself at the feet of the fantastic mountain on the rocks of which you grow and renew, hidden from the malicious eyes that could harm you, tenderly caressed by the Sun and motherly protected by the Moon.
I am like an explorer…I am aware of the obstacles that stand in my way to you and I wait, probably hopelessly, for an opportunity to climb the mountain and reach you, watch you closely. I know, the road that leads to happiness is toilsome but the breath of wind that carries your perfume gives me strength and hope. With all these in mind, I patiently await for the grandios Nature to come in my help and, at the end of this Winter, to break some of the rocks that stand in my way. On the peak of this heaven-born mountain you remained untouched and pure. I will always have this burning passion and curiosity to study you, observe you, discover you.
Thinking of what I’ve written I realize that you probably are a special being, dearly loved and protected by God and that maybe He is the only one who has the right to watch you. I realize that I have no right to dream of you, to hope to ever have you; I don’t deserve you for I am merely a humble mortal blinded by what I cannot see. It’s hard to admit this, but I can’t have you and I know that there will be many others like me that, allured by your noble appearance, will look for something that is not to be found.
There’s nothing left to be said. I will try to find another flower, one that grows down in the flat plain. However you will always be my distinguished “edelweiss”.
With love,
L."
Mi-e sufletul pustiu de gheata in asteptarea primaverii datatoare de speranta. E iarna acum, cumplitul anotimp ce mi te ia pe fiecare an, lasandu-mi inima secata de un dor nebun care ma macina necontenit. Pastrez cu drag si grija petala ce mi-ai dat-o la despartire, cand l-ai lasat pe bunul vant sa poarte in zbor speranta si s-o aseze lin in sufletu-mi crestin.
Acum sunt trist si ma gandesc la clipele trecute, cand m-amageam la poalele ce au dat viata fantasticului munte pe ale carui stanci renasti, ascunsa de priviri iscoditoare ce ar putea sa-ti faca rau. Privita esti de bunul Soare, ce te alinta gingas cu razele-i plapande, ocrotitor vegheaza Luna la somnul tau fara de griji seara de seara.
Precum exploratorul ce stie ca are in fata ultimul obstacol ce se opune fericirii sale, asa astept si eu, zadarnic poate, sa pot urca la tine si sa te vad de-aproape. Anevoioasa e calea ce aduce bucuria, stiu asta, insa placuta e adierea ce vine din vazduh aducand mireasma ta ce ma revigoreaza si ma indeamna sa nu renunt la gandul meu pe care-l stii prea bine. Avand acest crez, astept rabdator ca natura sa ma ajute si la sfarsitul iernii sa mai desprinda cateva pietricele din stancile ce ma impiedica sa ajung la tine. Pe varful muntelui ceresc, tu ai ramas neprihanita si pura, intocmai ca Fecioara ce o cinstim cu totii. O pasiune arzatoare in a te studia eu voi avea mereu, desi nu voi interveni acolo unde nici un ochi de muritor nu o poate face.
Gandindu-ma la ce am scris, am realizat ca esti faptura Domnului, ca numai El are dreptul sa il coboare pe Sfantul Duh asupra ta.
Spunand acestea eu nu am dreptul sa visez, sa nazuiesc ceva ce nu pot merita; sunt doar un muritor de rand orbit de ceea ce nu vad. Mi-e greu sa recunosc, insa eu nu te pot avea si stiu ca vor mai fi multi asemenea mie care vor cauta, impinsi de nobila-ti infatisare, sa caute ceea ce nu e de gasit.
Nu mai este nimic de spus si desi mi-as dori sa raman si eu precum Luceafarul lui Eminescu “nemuritor si rece”, nu pot. Voi incerca sa caut alta floare, aflata mai pe la campie, insa pe veci tu vei ramane distinsa mea “floare-de-colt”. In final tot la vorba aceea ramanem, “Daca dragoste nu e, nimic nu e”.
Cu dragoste,
L."
