Regina Saxony
on the topic of boats
Dearest ptichka,
Thank you for your little sketch of the apartment you sent to me last week. Also, the cigarettes were nice and I greatly appreciate your kindness and your words. Have you looked at the stars recently? The Pieces are visible and at their brightest.
It’s cold on the ship. It’s cold on the sea at night. I still have your silk scarf on my pillowcase, although, it’s luster has been desecrated with the sweat and general dirtiness of the long days. They barely let us bathe. It is gross, my dear.
The constant rocking of the boat is a solace to me. A new man on the boat, Yakov, does not find this rocking pleasurable. He’s another revolutionary I admire. He smuggled in a book written by Karl Marx and offered me it, I declined. I told him, albeit with my head hung low, that my reading and writing were very bad, but that I was improving.
So now, Yakov and I read to each other under the stars. It is no compromise for not having your sweet soprano in my ear, whispering me those fancy words and themes I don’t understand, but it is a good thing, is it not? I am getting better, right?
He said that he taught himself how to read when he worked on a farm somewhere in the East. He is very educated. We talk quite frequently when he isn’t sick or tired. He’ll get used to the constant fatigue.
I don’t want to scare you, my dear, but it is very nerve-wracking to be in open waters. A missile was fired from an unknown location at our boat. It was off by twenty meters or so, but we spotted it. They’ll occasionally drop bombs over the water, ultimately missing us, but just as a taunt I suppose. Very few times there will be a ship in the distance and the brief sounds of fire will exhilarate my senses, only to later realize I imagined it, or so the careless Yakov says I imagine them. I’m sure he’s not as fine-tuned as I am to the sea yet.
Know that I will come back to you, Regina Saxony. I will come back to you in some way.
With Love,
Ilya
Thank you for your little sketch of the apartment you sent to me last week. Also, the cigarettes were nice and I greatly appreciate your kindness and your words. Have you looked at the stars recently? The Pieces are visible and at their brightest.
It’s cold on the ship. It’s cold on the sea at night. I still have your silk scarf on my pillowcase, although, it’s luster has been desecrated with the sweat and general dirtiness of the long days. They barely let us bathe. It is gross, my dear.
The constant rocking of the boat is a solace to me. A new man on the boat, Yakov, does not find this rocking pleasurable. He’s another revolutionary I admire. He smuggled in a book written by Karl Marx and offered me it, I declined. I told him, albeit with my head hung low, that my reading and writing were very bad, but that I was improving.
So now, Yakov and I read to each other under the stars. It is no compromise for not having your sweet soprano in my ear, whispering me those fancy words and themes I don’t understand, but it is a good thing, is it not? I am getting better, right?
He said that he taught himself how to read when he worked on a farm somewhere in the East. He is very educated. We talk quite frequently when he isn’t sick or tired. He’ll get used to the constant fatigue.
I don’t want to scare you, my dear, but it is very nerve-wracking to be in open waters. A missile was fired from an unknown location at our boat. It was off by twenty meters or so, but we spotted it. They’ll occasionally drop bombs over the water, ultimately missing us, but just as a taunt I suppose. Very few times there will be a ship in the distance and the brief sounds of fire will exhilarate my senses, only to later realize I imagined it, or so the careless Yakov says I imagine them. I’m sure he’s not as fine-tuned as I am to the sea yet.
Know that I will come back to you, Regina Saxony. I will come back to you in some way.
With Love,
Ilya