Last Letter for You

Dear Mark,  

Once again, I`m writing to you. I hope that it`s the last time when my feelings make my hand take a pencil and create a letter. Today I`d like to tell you a fairytale. You know how I like such childish things. You often called me a “foolish, restless girl” because of this fact. But I`m sure that only they keep pure love inside.  

This fabulous story appeared a long time ago when great imperators conquered big territories and noble ladies were waiting for their heroes at splendid castles.  

That time a young girl from a poor family created a small windmill like an embodiment of her own pure and naive soul. She decorated its vanes with dry flowers and mysterious paintings, which made windmill stand out among others.  

But this story not about living people.  

It was hard not to take into account such a weird creation of people`s hands. So, a strong wind was blowing at the windmill, which stands on the windowsill of an ancient house near the sea, because of its curiosity to see the windmill every day. The windmill seemed quite sturdy to adjust to gusts of wind, but at the same time so gentle.  

That strong sea breeze permeated through the window into the room and guide all its power on the windmill. Its vanes started to tremble to produce a monotonous sound that rang out loudly throughout the house. It seemed the windmill could take off due to the force that the sea breeze gave to it. And if that power was stronger, it would disappear shattered into small pieces.  

Despite the windmill felt an assurance that they were knotted by a string of destiny. Moreover, the windmills were created to catch gusts of wind, it was their mission. So, she yearned for that wind every day… and every day it anticipated that the sea breeze wouldn`t come. The wind was so fickle, it was scared to stay in one place for a long time.  

The windmill was waiting for its ruination without any fear every day. And imagine how great its astonishment was when the windmill understood that their meetings were only teasing games for the strong wind. The sea breeze often flew nearby without looking into the window of an ancient house. But the windmill kept going to wait for it.  

Mark, maybe you are right and I don`t know about love anything, then I also don`t know what happened to me, but I`m still waiting for you. Tell me what is love if not this.  

Your, Maya…