Cara C. *,
often recently I was one step away from a decision like the one I have just taken, and that I wanted to make it through this vile piece of paper. It is not easy for a man like me, with all the responsibilities in the years that I wanted to hire me, my back now, to avoid the latter weight, you, I've uploaded and I, unaware, I accepted. You know how I do not ever spared. The first to get up in the morning, the last to bed at night, tirelessly at work - a workaholic, as you just a few days ago you said, laughing. Yet, like all great men, I too have found my limit, my weak side, my wound that bleeds and that makes me like the other beings on this earth. It 's true, I made sure to look better than they are, but if I did this is not due to vanity, a craving for power, but only because I aspired to give you and our little M * That serenity and security which for so many years you have been blissfully bask.
Yet in my dreams, a shadow has lengthened, swallowing everything myself.
remember my early years, when my mother suggested to me attentive, educated me, getting close to another ideal, then one day I would have disowned. That's why this new suffering this waiver, but this sudden impulsive act of will, eventually came to be.
Cara C *, I appreciated your every gesture from the start. You know that our characters are often caught fire for a trifle, and that many times we found ourselves. Yet, this story has not lined up a series of successes that would just disappear so many men, has finally met the blizzard that paralyzed my limbs, my iron will to date.
do not intend to extend this waiting, now the decision is made and will not be your words, or tears, or flattery, to move me: like a rock which resists the stormy sea for centuries, with his head in front of the fair violence delle onde, così io sto, con cuore sanguinante di ricordi appassionati, interpretando il carnefice nell'atto finale di questa tragedia che non trova più senso neanche nelle parole, nei pensieri appena accennati, di cui sommamente mi sono vergognato.
Che smacco, che sofferenza: quanti ne parleranno? Con chi ti potrai scagliare, dopo che ogni fiducia in me riposta sarà venuta meno, per sempre? Avrai ancora il desiderio, o la pietà, di scrutare oltre il tuo sguardo nei miei occhi impassibili ma velati da quell'aura indelebile di fallimento?
often recently I was one step away from a decision like the one I have just taken, and that I wanted to make it through this vile piece of paper. It is not easy for a man like me, with all the responsibilities in the years that I wanted to hire me, my back now, to avoid the latter weight, you, I've uploaded and I, unaware, I accepted. You know how I do not ever spared. The first to get up in the morning, the last to bed at night, tirelessly at work - a workaholic, as you just a few days ago you said, laughing. Yet, like all great men, I too have found my limit, my weak side, my wound that bleeds and that makes me like the other beings on this earth. It 's true, I made sure to look better than they are, but if I did this is not due to vanity, a craving for power, but only because I aspired to give you and our little M * That serenity and security which for so many years you have been blissfully bask.
Yet in my dreams, a shadow has lengthened, swallowing everything myself.
remember my early years, when my mother suggested to me attentive, educated me, getting close to another ideal, then one day I would have disowned. That's why this new suffering this waiver, but this sudden impulsive act of will, eventually came to be.
Cara C *, I appreciated your every gesture from the start. You know that our characters are often caught fire for a trifle, and that many times we found ourselves. Yet, this story has not lined up a series of successes that would just disappear so many men, has finally met the blizzard that paralyzed my limbs, my iron will to date.
do not intend to extend this waiting, now the decision is made and will not be your words, or tears, or flattery, to move me: like a rock which resists the stormy sea for centuries, with his head in front of the fair violence delle onde, così io sto, con cuore sanguinante di ricordi appassionati, interpretando il carnefice nell'atto finale di questa tragedia che non trova più senso neanche nelle parole, nei pensieri appena accennati, di cui sommamente mi sono vergognato. Che smacco, che sofferenza: quanti ne parleranno? Con chi ti potrai scagliare, dopo che ogni fiducia in me riposta sarà venuta meno, per sempre? Avrai ancora il desiderio, o la pietà, di scrutare oltre il tuo sguardo nei miei occhi impassibili ma velati da quell'aura indelebile di fallimento?
Ebbene, mia cara: con mani tremolanti e voce soffocata dai singulti di un'autorevolezza ormai defunta, ti confesso di aver deciso di interrompere per sempre la lettura "L'Adolescent" by Fedor Dostoevskji you gave me for my birthday.
I asked myself many, many times, flicking through the pages of tiny white and thick characters, what has this to do with my life. I tiny Ismael in the jaws of the White Whale of the various Tolstoy, Dostoevskji, Turgenev, I confess now to the world not to be capable of consuming, line by line, anything of that kind. An inordinate desire of life, people closest to my feelings, I was at last forced, against my will in spite of a capable, page after page, sometimes exhausting to finish huge volumes, close your eyes and endure the shame of this failure .
Cara C. *, your noble attempt, was not in vain, because the 158 pages I finally worn out. But Arkady Dolgoruky and its torments, the anxieties verbose, that all mental wealth of experiences so afflicted; quell'euforia of adolescent intentions of those heroic lost abandoned after a row, what to do with me, with my life? What empathy? None. So back down the veil that you have tried, my beloved, to pierce. And this attempt will be forever grateful to you, but especially to your confidence that I, alas, this time, I paid badly, recanted. Do not have it.
Please do not have any. Forgive me. And if your anger overwhelm me, I do not farei nulla per togliermi dalla tua strada, perchè ogni parola astiosa, ogni rimprovero, ogni diniego, è ben meritato e lo attendo, impaziente. Non ho potuto, non ho potuto: il solo Cecov, fu per me una lettura che potei attendere. Tutto il resto è polvere stesa su migliaia di pagine e di storie che hanno infiammato i cuori di milioni di lettori, per cent'anni e cent'anni. E che mai leggerò.
Please do not have any. Forgive me. And if your anger overwhelm me, I do not farei nulla per togliermi dalla tua strada, perchè ogni parola astiosa, ogni rimprovero, ogni diniego, è ben meritato e lo attendo, impaziente. Non ho potuto, non ho potuto: il solo Cecov, fu per me una lettura che potei attendere. Tutto il resto è polvere stesa su migliaia di pagine e di storie che hanno infiammato i cuori di milioni di lettori, per cent'anni e cent'anni. E che mai leggerò.
Tuo, R.*
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