The letters of love that light started for Saddam in the '60s

“Adio, chill, gun to my writing! Why is that? This seems to be your credit. I've never usually opened my eyes behind the dresses, but now I've completely closed everything to see you. For the rest of your life, light-lighted Agoll loved Saddam, not as much as himself. He says more. It would only take a few letters, cut off from a long correspondence, to understand, perhaps not everything, but something from that deep feeling that bound them. He, already a consolidated poet and writer, “at the age of Christ”, as he says, while she, a girl who had just finished school, was working as a teacher of literature at Shkodra.

The one in Tirana, while the one in Shkodra. A long distance back then, when transportation vehicles were limited, while communication was summed up on some rare telephone, letters, and telegrams. Today, in the world of technology, skype, whatsapp, facebook, those old-fashioned, hand-written cards, are even more valuable and never repeated. Even more when it's written by lettersmen.

On the day of Sadie's 75th anniversary and on the eve of her birthday, we are publishing some letters that two lovers sent to each other in the '60s. He lit up, which had little love for phones, especially appreciated letters when they were written with truth and pure feelings.

People in these love letters usually like to be made or hamlet, to show how they suffer and how much they are upset by the world, or to be like wise uncles with kind and diactical expressions, to teach girls not to fall into error, to tell them that there are people who are bad and who I know. These resemble people who, when talking to women, place more emphasis on sound intonation, elegant gestures, endurance mania, and forget the wretched, nature. The bad guys, they wrote in one of the letters sent to Saddam, light them up.

He's more passionate, and she's more restrained and more consistent in her letters. His feelings and possessions for light are expressed in a few lines, and he seems to be tired of writing down how much he loves him and how he misses him when they are away. In addition to two different writing styles, two different characters also reveal two more words.

The one with Devall's speech and Shkodra's. And now the school starts, so I'll always be the fairy, but don't think I'll have time to think about you. Every night I think and I need to see you in the dream. You're the best and closest person to me, even when I'm angry with you, Mahx1>, Sadija writes. Literary, as a force of custom but even as a testimony of love, has continued until the last years of the writer's life, when he felt that gulling over Pogradce Lake would be the last to see together.

Dear Saddam,

I don't know what happened to me. At the age of Christ, do I become so overwhelmed with my own feelings? I'm just a little lonely and completely after you. And when I'm with my friends, I don't mind the whole story. I'm told I've changed so much that I don't know. I don't like to change my nature, so I comfort myself, thinking that friends, since they know my story with you, err in their judgments. But the truth is, I give them the right that something happened.

At midday, love is strange. I want to be with you right now. You stand by me, you talk, you laugh. You know I like your laugh? You laugh. Do you see the nature of a double man? I'm in the history of my mother-in-law very tight, aren't I? Even in love's writings, I'm even contained. But when I start writing to you and losing your temper. Bye, cool, gun to my writing! Why is that? This seems to be your credit. I've never usually opened my eyes behind the dresses, but now I've completely closed everywhere just to see you. The letter is a momentary expression.

If we could write our letters without even sending them one day, of course if we were in a normal mood, the third day we would tear them apart and say to ourselves, "What nonsense we wrote! The three letters I started you before were full of madness, that I was not well. If you don't worry, a person should have a moment of madness, that we would then be overwhelmed by monotonousness. We should have fun with a paper of abnormal shades.

People in these love letters usually like to be made or hamlet, to show how much they suffer, and how much they are upset by the world, or to be like wise uncles with kind and academic expressions, to teach girls not to fall into error, to tell them that there are people who are bad and who I know. These resemble people who, when talking to women, place more emphasis on sound intonation, elegant gestures, endurance mania, and forget the wretched, nature. Unfortunately! With that, without knowing themselves, they get bored. I've lived with you today. Going to the street with you, going to coffee with you, going to the library looking for a book. What was that, like, I was like, a guardian angel?

Holy shit. It's good when they love you, isn't it? Yes, not when they want “to unite our customs and district proximity”! When they want you completely different, totally without rules, you can be happy. I don't like being loved by rules. I don't want to get in the ring like the acrobats. I even like it this way: you don't feel good with me one day, you say: "You're boring me, light up, today I don't love you, tomorrow I can love you, get out of your sight! There are cases like that, right?

But man is also a hypocrite who fears to open up and speak the truth. Even though you never told me that, but I've had times, moments like this, short luck-sight, I smell them. I know this is human nature, so I'm not even bored. If you don't smell like that, I wouldn't love you and I wouldn't marry you. Stupid, you mean, yes, it's true. Now let me tell you why I didn't call you.

You know I don't have the fun to talk on the phone because I'm done talking? I don't know what to say. To speak, I want to see the man, or imagine him. I can't see him on the phone, I can't even imagine. I don't understand how I'm born with this obsession and why I'm hanging up on the phone. Must be a disease! So don't mind if I didn't call you. I didn't go to Durres to ask my friend what he did with the glasses I ordered for you. I called him a few times, but he was on leave and he didn't come out. I'm starting to live a more normal, more realistic life. For my book* with stories I asked in the publishing company and I was told that it should soon be released. I was troubled by this book. According to the number, this is the fourth book you publish, the most difficult and confusing. This fifth of the poem you're preparing I believe has the fate of stories.

I'm on my turf, and I know how to be guided, although a Swiss told me that a lot of poems have to be removed. I read a book from Dostoyevsky and left me sleepless with guys and his terrible figures. A man all night thinks before his wife's hair, who killed himself. What were the reasons his wife killed herself? That's what the story says. There's a great moment.

A man has been invited to a duel (before marriage). He refuses, refuses to fight. Everyone calls him a coward. After a lot of situations, the wife depresses him. He's lying and sleeping. She takes the gun and puts the iron barrel in her belly. He opens his eyes, looks at the barrel cool and closes them again. The woman is shocked. For the first time, he realizes that he is not a coward. How did he refuse the duel? Refusing the duel he said requires more manhood! ” It's a really good story. Too bad you can't read it. And so, dear, stop tearing, I'm closing the letter.

Kisses, light

19,8,1964

* It's about the book “The Outcome of the Ancient Wind”, the banned edition in 1965.

Dear Saddam,

This is the last letter for 1964. Nice thing happened to us. There were two people somewhere in one town, met, fell in love. Year went, walked. And so came the last day of 1964. The man on the last day of the year becomes a bit of a startoff, doesn't he? Remember when you met me with a bottle in your hand last year at this time? How would you know that the man with that bottle one day would be your husband?

See how unexpected there is in a year? You could not be my wife. Wherever you were with anyone you met you'd be a good and beautiful man. Perhaps I have dreamed of you in other years without seeing you? Uh, what do you know? I'm getting a little mystical. At the end of this year, full of love for you, I wish you were good, beautiful, dear. I'm always your husband and your boyfriend. I kiss you very, very much.

Light

Shit.

Dear Saddam,

You came home tired, but you won. You officially became my wife. She's right now. My name is in your passport. We're joking, because it doesn't matter a dry seal. Were it not for our seal, We would be joined together. How tired and angry you broke the two days I was in Shkodra. But whoever was like that would be bored like you. You're looking for a serious thing and you're facing a miserable obstacle! I felt so sorry for you.

Well, it's good we're done fast. I love you all more. No doubt about it. And we did the cell, and we love our friend. Only, since all the formalities have been done, you must ever come to Tirana. You're not supposed to be in any trouble right now. I tell you to come because I always miss you. Yesterday, after our famous celebration, I rented all those people. To inherit, say one; to inherit, say the other. Like we got engaged yesterday! Apparently yesterday was important and called marriage.

I got your telegram today and I'm glad you feel good. When you left yesterday I was afraid you'd get very sick on the way. Did you pray? Don't give up on it, and don't underestimate the formalities, like I don't confuse the work that I confused in the civil office in Shkodra. Better yet, we made our celebration in Tirana, it became more natural and humane. And Qaqua and Vasca were handsome. Come on all of a sudden.