Dear Jonas,
You have always been a short-sentence person
A kind of a silent dreamer
drifting timidly under the midnight sun
You would write
Hurricanes and lilies and animals and diamonds
                                                          on my rooftop
Just that.
And then sign in playful disarray.
Your star constellations became my buggy knits.
Your skinny dark-haired girls with the wooden cheeks…
I became one of them
And the needle would go on needling and needling
Paving ways to see
Ways to imagine
Golden arrows and bare trees
and the wings of a bird sewing a staircase towards the infinite sky
Now our correspondence lies piled on my wooden table
A few summer raindrops are falling softly in the half-light of the dusk
Though I never got to meet you,
I once imagined
you were a ruthless child running across the edge of the shore
On the line
the frontier line
A shaggy warrior clad in his can armour
Yours, Lina