British Marine Engineer


From first moment, when you started writing to me, my heart was open. When I saw your picture, I knew this was the face that I wanted to love forever. I still can’t believe you love me. I find it hard to believe that I am loved by someone I love because although some men did love me, the ones I loved failed to reciprocate my feelings. I had not been close to anyone last twelve years. I forgot about the existence of love. I have learned to deal with my solitude; it is not as scary as people think. With no loved one by my side, there is no deception. With no loving embrace, there is no pain of finding out those arms were around someone else. Solitude and lovelessness even suppresses tears, forcing them to hide in the darkest, deepest crevasses of the heart, which aches and weeps tearlessly for the life that passes without the dream of love coming true. The love I’ve been looking for remained on the pages of love stories, and I felt like asking the authors where they saw the love they had written about so eloquently and extensively.

And why was I felt out of it?

Am I so different from other women?

Indeed, solitude is not as horrifying as some people assume, but your heart grieves when silence is your only companion, and all your desire is to look into someone’s affection-filled eyes. You crave a tight embrace, the warmth of someone’s heart next to yours. Solitude is scare for novices, but when you drink and breathe it year after year, the heart becomes immune to the affliction of happiness. You hide your feelings behind a smile, the proof that you haven’t been broken, that you are stronger than you thought you were. You alone know how solitude tears your heart apart, how your soul yearns for a lover. Solitude is child’s play compared to the instant when you learn about a loved one’s deception.

You are my only love, God himself sent you to me to forever rid me of loneliness. You alone will be in my heart till my last breath.

E-book: $4.99 Paperback: $9.99 Hardback: $12.99




Liana Margiva, from Russia, graduated from Russian Institute of Writers in Moscow.

Published five books of short stories and poems and translated Poor Folk by F. Dostoevsky,

A. Kuprin, Henry Barbusse, Prosper Merime.


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