Vladimir & Vera.

While reading about Vladimir Nabokov and his letters to his wife from the day he saw her till the end…I can’t stop wondering…

I love reading letters. I find writing a letter, even those we write and never send, an intimate expression of Love. Vladimir had found himself thousands of miles away from his beloved Vera and kept writing to her every single day. She wrote back to him, but betrayal made her destroy all of her letters.  Vladimir felt so intensely belonging to Vera, to him, she was to only one able to understand him, to see his soul “…cause you’re the only person I can talk with about the shade of a cloud, about a song, about a thought..” Oh what a misfortune to meet your soul mate and miss a whole life…

One of his first ones while not being able to see her or listen to her voice:

My delightful, my love, my life,

I don’t understand anything:

How can you not be with me?

I’m so infinitely used to you that

I now feel myself lost and empty:

without you, my soul.

You turn my life into something

light, amazing, rainbowed – you

put a glint of happiness on


I love you. Infinitely and inexpressibly. I’ve woken up

in the middle of the night

and here I am writing this. My love. My happiness.

Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera.

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