From the author: Thoughts, feelings, reflections... I love writing letters, or rather I loved, or rather, I got used to writing them since childhood, right from the age of 6, when I started learning letters. At first, under my mother’s dictation, I wrote out my first sentences at random, and then I wrote letters myself, on my own initiative, and always waited for a response letter. It always arrived, sometimes a little late for a day or two, but I waited and checked the mailbox several times a day. If there was a holiday coming up, I knew that the letter would come with a postcard, always with some kind of postcard to match the theme. Sometimes there were photographs: city landscapes, nature, and less often people. I really loved tearing the corner of a sealed letter slowly, trying to guess what was there this time. None of my friends had to write letters as often as I did. Perhaps for some grandmother on a holiday, and even then when the parents force her, and what to write, everything is fine at school, at home too, standard phrases of a few sentences... Every week I performed a ritual: I sat down, thought, reflected. , felt and wrote about all this in a letter. I took it to the post office for many years of my childhood and I was not lazy.. Yes, was it a ritual, or a habit? Habit...I’m wondering if it’s possible to get used to writing letters? Rather, it is the desire for communication, the call of the soul. Previously, more often, now I am less and less often visited by the desire to write a letter. Be sure to write what’s new, how I live, about the weather in our city...after all, where it will fly is a completely different climate, and be sure to wait for an answer. But.. this will NEVER happen.. I will never receive a response from this addressee. I don't like the word NEVER. It sounds very, very (I can’t find the word) cruel and at the same time hopeless, or something... My parents divorced when I was 5. Mom took me to her homeland, and dad stayed in that big city, my favorite, where I was born...We almost haven’t seen my dad since then...And I grew up without my dad...was he in my life? Yes, it was, perhaps, even more than in the lives of my peers who lived in two-parent families... Dad talked to me, he was interested in how I studied, what interests me, I want to believe that he also loved to write letters to me, to share with me. me with his thoughts and feelings, and he also went to the post office every week to send a letter to me, his daughter.. Every week he was with me, reliable, attentive, cheerful, with a sense of humor, serious, sometimes strict, different... He always answered in response to my questions, he even tried to explain in a letter how to draw the axonomeriya, attaching his own drawing by hand... He was with me, raised me and supported me as best he could. But I never told him how important his letters were to me, realizing it only after he left. This year my dad has been gone for 10 years, but sometimes I still want to write him a letter and be sure to wait for an answer. Dedicated to my dad…