The most beautiful love letter what I ever read

“Many think that they praise, saying, Here is my heart! I give it to you! I don’t need it! … I’m not afraid of torments of jealousy, I do not care of feverish trembling of love! Of one thing I protect myself: do not be banal! I wish to suffer, I would like to grind my teeth, to tear my hair and to asleep with my eyelashes fall soaked in tears! So at least, I would know that I live, I would understand, perhaps, what to love means … But days pass, always the same, lifeless and boring and my life is running just like the life of an evil bug was… I can not have love, I can only have loves. But these loves are quickly spring up, flicker for a moment and then perish, disappear forever, like they were some dreams that you forget as soon as you awake from sleep … “

Oh, and I thought I could not to love, and I figured that my blame is not in me but in women who do not deserve to be loved! … But today I know and understand that love is made for the humbles; those who are proud won’t ever be in love … Those proud thought they don’ t need by heart , they just want to win, always to conquer and they finally think, the success is also everything in love. Their wishes maybe will be fulfilled, their appetites can be satisfied, yes … but, alas, the love they never have know.

The love requires obedience, a blind obedience, as well as faith. In love you will not ever be convinced, never to wait for samples. All that’s not obedience and devotion is not love. You have to live much, you must suffer much, you must understand long for your heart to be able to receive the love. The ambitious, proud, rude and ungrateful people can not know what love is, and so, most of us only at the age of fifty years begin to understand the love, then, so it’s too late …
My life kneaded me, humiliated me, my life has taken my voice. So, I ended up not to say that they do not deserve to be loved, but I cry everywhere that I know to love because I learned to cry, to sigh and to resign myself!

Today I would wish not to love, I’d like to be proud, ambitious, conqueror again … From it shows to you I’m in love! If I knew playing from syrinx, I’d take you in a meadow bathed in the light of the moon, in a clearing where human pride has not yet come, to whisper in your ear the song of love. Then maybe, you’ll understand that love is not what the world calls “to be loved”.

I love you because you love me: this is a change, but not love. I love you because I love you, nothing more, I love you just because I love, [and] love begins here. Thank you from my heart that I love you: it’s the song of love. A man in love does not say I love you because you are swarthy nor I love you because you’re good. A man in love says I love you even though you are swarthy, although you’re good and I’d love you even if you’ll be blonde or if you’ll be bad.
Some say, the poetry has forged the love. The poem made songs, statues, lyrics from that simple and natural feeling that was once the love, has made fools from people who, also were about to turn on insanity, made gourmets in people who until then were starving. But I say that there is no poet, musician, painter or sculptor greater than a lover. For the artist to understand the great poetry of suffering, he must first be in love. The poets did not do the love, but love has made poets! And, I who glad read in stars and also make a pleasure to commit to paper a letter by letter, I can swear that, in our humble letters are written all the love secrets of the stars.
Who understand the life of stars also understand the human love life! Love does not know the words faithful and unfaithful. You love another one, you say I do not love you: it is the song of love. A man in love never says: you cheated me. Love does not ask reckoning of the kisses you’ve given or not given to others. Love do not rummages the past and do not investigate the present. The future is its hope, the future is its selfishness. That hopeless hope, that desolates the comfort are its balm which is just as sweet as suffering, as love.
You love, you suffer, you live: here’s the Crucifix of love. Kisses soothes your thirst, but tears wake up in your soul,  big, exhausting and loved longings which you can not soothe nor the kisses. From eyes drip tears, the eternal fount of love, from love drip song, poetry, beauty, the eternal fount of tears.
A small drop of tear that shy trembles on the eyelash of your beloved is a greater treasure and more precious than kisses and hugs of all women in the world.
O vanitas, vanitas vanitatum! says the prophet… All sufferings are useless! an inner voice whispers to you. Kisses, tears, love: all are big vanities, trifles sorrows … And yet, for these vain trifles, for such vanities now unsearchable, I would be able to give away the most expensive things which I have in the world, I would be able even to give away my life …
I don’t know if it’s good or bad what I do, but I feel that, among all worldly vanities, I have chosen the most beautiful which is fairest because it’s the most vain of all. ” 

 
(The letter was written by Liviu Rebreanu and addressed to the actress and writer Fanny Radulescu, which later became his wife.)

 

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