so, one day (I should say night) when I came home, I found a postcard for me from the kitchen at 4 am in the morning. It said in Estonian:
knock, knock, is Maria at home?
I dont think so
Well, tell her that I read her travelling letters and here I am sitting in Barcelona and staring at the tower of Barcelonas commercial center. 29.11. Barcelona
I have no idea who sent me this. I even dont know myself the postal code, not even talking about friends knowing my adress where I live now. What a bizarre thing, it makes me crazy and I think on it almost every day. Is it a friend, or a stranger - not jet a friend, or just someone. I mean - do I know you? Or - how do you know me? Do you read this aswell? Who are you?
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