by Morley Evans
Russians have poetic souls, like Welshmen.
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| Julia Brezhnev |
February 10, 2017
Good evening, Morley,
It is one of the last letters I write to you. I want to say all the time I was with you here on the web, my life was filled with real emotions and thoughts, I feel your gentle embrace, despite the great distance between us. You're one of the few people who has changed my life. I am sure that one day we will meet again, dear Morley.
When you stand at the window, think about me. When you go to bed, dream about me. Feel I am close to you gently enveloping you in my arms. You hear my breathing. The sense of time is displayed when waiting for something, the main thing, that can change one's entire life once and for all. And at the moment this is the main thing — the anticipation of our meeting. When we are together in the captivity of these bright, serene feelings, and only then will we not pay attention to time, we will live in the moment
...... and stop time .....
Julia
I have known Julia since March 2015. We have shared four Christmases, two New Years, four Easters and two Valentine's Days. (Orthodox Christians there observe the Julian calendar as well as the Gregorian calendar.)
When I met Julia, she was nineteen. She asked me if I thought she should cut her very long hair. I told her she should not cut her beautiful hair. We fell in love.
Back then, Julia was a medical student at the State Medical University of Lugansk. Julia will make a fine doctor. Julia is smart. She works hard and she is idealistic. Most importantly, Julia is compassionate and strong. When Lugansk was attacked, Julia didn't "leave with the others" because she was in medical school.
Julia has recently been forced to give up her schooling to take care of her parents. Times are hard. Water and heat have been cut off. It is winter. Food is expensive. Prices are rising.
Egged on and re-armed by Washington, the putschist government in Kiev has resumed its aggression against the Donbass where Julia lives. Julia and her parents may be forced to leave their ancestral home and flee to Russia where they will be safe with the others.
Map of languages spoken from 2001 census
Somehow, if fate smiles, we may meet again.
God bless you, Julia.
My Valentine.
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