- Ventura: Nha cretcheu, my love, meeting again will brighten our lives for at least 30 years. I'll return to you renewed and full of strength. I wish I could offer you 100,000 cigarettes, a dozen fancy new dresses, a car, that little lava house you always dreamed of, and a 40-cent bouquet. But most of all, drink a bottle of good wine and think of me. The work here never stops. There are over a hundred of us now. Two days ago, on my birthday, I thought about you for a long while. Did my letter arrive safely? Still no word from you. I'm still waiting. Every day, every minute, I learn beautiful new words just for you and me, tailor-made for us both like fine silk pajamas. I can only send you one letter a month. Still no word from you. Maybe soon. Sometimes I get scared building these walls, me with a pick and cement, you with your silence, pushing you even deeper into a pit of forgetting. It hurts to see these things I don't want to see. Your lovely hair slips through my fingers like dry grass. Sometimes I feel weak and think I'll forget.