“Talking With Your Letters” شبیه نثر شاعرانهٔ انگلیسی قرن ۱۹–۲۰،

(Short Classical Literary Version)

Today,

I found myself in quiet conversation

with your letters.

The postman arrived at dusk,

bearing an armful of envelopes—

each still touched

by the faint warmth

and gentle fragrance

of your hands.

In the waning light,

I wished you were beside me,

so that with every measured stroke

of the old wall clock,

we might exchange

the small treasures

we call our own.

No, my dearest—

there was no game in this,

nor any whisper

of complaint.

You spoke:

“one…”

and I offered

my own soft

“one,”

laden with a quiet sorrow.

You counted:

“two…”

yet I remained

within that first

and only “one.”

You reached a thousand,

and I—

I held fast

to the single number

that was mine.

You spoke

of many possessions;

I spoke

only of you.

Night had fully fallen;

a star glimmered,

and the moon

cast its pale smile upon the sky.

And believe me—

in this gentle contest,

I was not

the one

who lost.

Arsalan — Wiesbaden

25 November 2025

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