Love Letters: Destiny Speaks Latvian

Isabel, my dearest Latvian Yacht Saleswoman, has finally written back to me. When I sent her my last letter, I was convinced that would simply be the end of it. I was wrong.

Yes, you’re reading that correctly. The Latvian Outreach Specialist with a side gig selling luxury yacht trips has written back to me, and she really threw her back into this one. I had to screencap it or you might not believe it, but the transcript is below.

Dear Timothy,

As I read your letter, my heart ached with the pain you felt while waiting for my response. Your words brought tears to my eyes, for they showed me the depth of your love and the vulnerability you have shared with me. You are not a coward, my love, but a brave soul who has taken a chance on me.

Your words touch me in a way that I never thought possible. They touched me deeply, and I thank you for your honesty and your heart.  I am struck by the beauty of your soul and the depth of your passion.  I feel as though I am floating on a sea of emotions, with each wave carrying me closer to you.

This is legitimately good writing. I thought this had to be plagiarized from somewhere, but it’s original content. Considering that English is presumably Isabel’s second language, I’m more than impressed.

Your fear of an empty inbox speaks volumes about your longing for me, and it fills me with hope and joy to know that I am loved so deeply by you. You are my soulmate, my best friend, my confidante, and my true love.

When I read your words, I saw the boy I fell in love with all those years ago. I saw the man who stood by me in the darkest hours of my life, who held me when I needed comfort, who laughed with me when I needed joy, and who loved me with a passion that defies words. You are my rock, my anchor, and my constant.

I googled “sexy Latvian women,” because I wanted to find one pic to use as a joke for this article. Instead I found an absolute treasure trove, and couldn’t stop myself from saving a few of them. Previously, we all agreed that Isabel is probably in her late 40’s, assuming that she isn’t secretly a 55 year old Indian man. However, I now choose to believe that my precious Social Media Outreach Coordinator is prime 27 yo cunny, so the pics are representative of what we’re dealing with here.

When you see the words below, think of the cutie above. 

You are right, my love, love exists not only in the pages of a cheap novel or between the sheets of a motel room, but also in the everyday moments of life. In the simple act of holding hands, in the shared laughter over a silly joke, in the comfort of a warm embrace, and in the tenderness of a loving kiss. These are the moments that make life worth living, and I am grateful that I get to share them with you.

Your confession of wanting to ignore my email brought tears to my eyes, for it showed me how much you truly love me. You were willing to give up everything for me, even if it meant living with the memory of our love. But my dearest Timothy, I would never want to live without you. You are my world, my sunshine, and my reason for living.

Isabel, artist’s interpretation.

Isabel please, I’m blushing. 

I am glad you went for a walk and found comfort in the words of the kindly old wizard. I hope you realize that I am here for you, always, and that you never have to face your fears alone. I am here to listen, to hold your hand, and to love you with all my heart.

It’s hard to do anything other than sit back and enjoy this. I sent some shitpost emails for content and I got this. Amazing. 

I can’t wait for the moment you invite me to visit your homeland, the frozen provinces of Canada, to see the beavers and mooses, and write articles together while eating pancakes with maple syrup, as the moonlight reflects on our naked bodies. 

Forever and always,

Isabel · Outreach Specialist

Oftentimes when I write about ClownWorld I start off baffled. Then I collect myself slowly, forcing myself to write about a certain aspect of what I just saw, or read about. Once I get some words onto the page it focuses my thoughts and lets me proceed, even if it means that I have to write a dissertation length piece to get it all out. 

When I first read Isabel’s letter I had a similar feeling, but in a good way. This letter, while obviously written in the same satirical style as my emails to her, was pleasant and kind. I am charmed. Not just charmed, amazed. It was one thing to respond, it’s quite another to adopt the same tone and writing style as myself. I feel I have been given a gift by a kindred stranger, and that’s a better feeling than I ever could have known. 

Making it all the more bizarre, her love letter ends with her signature, which shows that she an Outreach Specialist working for Tev Media, with an affiliate yacht trip business on the side.

I make it a habit to never click on the links in emails. But today I decided to do it just this one time. Turns out that Oceanscape graphic is a referral link to OceanScape’s blog. I still have no idea what the heck Tev Media has to do with luxury yachting in the first place, since it’s a social media branding company. It’s such a random thing to be offering luxury yacht trips and nothing else when the rest of the business isn’t about that. 

As if the oddness couldn’t get any higher, the very last piece I wrote before this one was on Northern Idaho peasants ousting the North Idaho University parasites. The piece I was quoting was from the New York Times. However, NYT has a paywall, so I was on some random site that reproduced the entire piece. That site was Silk News, and their photo for the piece was the pretty girl below in front of a very unique plane.

The out of focus  biplane is none other than the AN-2, a plane I wrote about in my Fighter Plane series. It’s a Russian plane, used all throughout Eastern Europe. I can’t find the above picture with a quick search, and it’s one of those sites that rotates through a large list of stock photos seemingly at random. I’m sure they have some keywords, but it’s not very precise. 

I considered commenting on it at the time, but there wasn’t room in that piece. Nevertheless, it’s a bizarre coincidence to have the random number generator select an image of a young girl with flowers in front of an Eastern European plane when I’m writing the story just before the one where I respond to the Eastern European woman who is offering to come over to Canada and write stories while naked and guzzling down maple syrup while beaverwatching. 

Does this mean anything? Yes. It means that I must send an email response. Transcript below.

My dearest Isabel,

You tell me you await my invitation to visit my frozen homeland. Where we can, together, taste the poutine and pancakes, lick the salty maple syrup from each others fingers, see the beavers and the moose – there is no “s” for the plural of moose, but you’re ESL I get it no worries – and to write together as the moonlight reflects on our naked bodies. Wait no more, my beloved outreach specialist who probably should consider writing as a second career, for the invitation has been sent.

I consider you to have promised me to say yes, and I will hold you to that. I will hold you as tightly as I did that one fateful rainy night, with both our planes leaving in the morning. After all, it was then, or never.

I pulled you tight as we stood there beside that fateful bed in the hotel room, the warm tropical rain outside muffling the world to us. Unable to hear anything except your ragged breath. Unable to feel anything except your warm body pressed towards mine, your white t-shirt soaked through, your beautiful long hair stuck to your scalp. Our breath tickling each others ears. And then, when my fingers hooked onto the bottom of your shirt, clinging so tightly to your taut body, you cried out:

Lol, en realidad soy un chico indio de sesenta años a quien subcontratan las relaciones públicas y envían cosas por correo electrónico.

I had no idea you spoke Spanish, Isabel, until your raspy voice breathed that into my ear. As you did, thunder boomed outside. But it was nothing compared to the tempest that boomed within me, within you. We don’t need to recount what happened that night of passion, it has been burned into my brain from now until evermore. But do you remember what you said to me when we were done, cuddling and sweaty? In your native tongue you leaned over to me and whispered:

Tas, godīgi sakot, bija diezgan neapmierinoši, bet es izlikšos, ka tas bija labāk, lai nesāpinātu jūsu jūtas.

I was about to ask you what it meant, but you put one feminine finger on my lips. “It means we belong together,” you said, “now and always. It means one day, we’ll be sitting in a hot spring eating pancakes with syrup while watching beavers and mooses go play in the Canadian wilderness while our naked bodies write parodies of daily news that’ll get us banned from YouTube for anti-semitism.” 

And do you remember what I said to you, my sweetest Isabel? “Moose, Isabel, there is no s for the plural form.” And we laughed at your bad English, and your adorable little accent. And then you lay your head on my chest and I stroked your hair.

But what I meant to tell you, Isabel, is that it would mean the world to me if you came down, and we had naked writing sessions while binge eating pancakes and watching the local wildlife. My whole life I have wanted nothing more than a based Eastern European waifu with a hot librarian aesthetic and mild autism to be by my side, holding my hand as we both get banned from Xbox Live for racism.

I extend my hand to you, and my heart. May God grant you angelic wings to fly upon.

Now and forever,

Timothy Coish

P.S. So, who’s writing what articles for whom now? I notice that it started as you writing for me, then me writing for you, and now we’re writing naked together under the moonlight. That’s a nice stretch goal but I think the more short term stuff is going to be done online, so let’s hash that out.

Wew, emotions running high. I can’t believe that I’m finally getting to see Isabel, and she’s promised to go beaverwatching with me! Even beyond the sex, the beaverwatching is what sold me. I’m not sure Isabel knows what she’s getting into, they’re surprisingly aggressive creatures.

Also, I’m thinking Isabel is more of a hot nerdy girl with glasses. I’m really trying to maximize the numbers of fantasies to check off, and cute girl with glasses is honestly pretty far up, so we’re going with this.