Killing a Moakingbird

Te escribí una carta como la de la pequeña Scout a Dill, con tinta invisible.
La titulé si tu no vuelves y garabateé pedazos de canción y del alma para decirte tantas cosas calladas... No se que hiciste, se suponía que la carta would drive you mad, buscando toda suerte de artificios para descubrir cómo leerla y al final no sé si encontraste la forma, si encontraste luz negra en algún lado o bien, si fue una extraña coincidencia y aunque estoy segura que no ha sido por que te llegó mi mensaje, ¿ me contestaste: me regresaste las letras.

By the way, you have got it all wrong: I'm not a thief, I did not stole your book, you forgot it in my car, because you are not good at all for looking up lost things. There's no heart broken -at least not anymore- and the book is not lost at all, nor in other continent,  it's in one drawer of my kitchen. I was suppoused to deliver it, but then, got my leg broken, could not drive.

Now let's see, are you going to get some courage and ask for it? Or even better, would you please explain? would you please tell me if what you are regretting more is loosing a notebook or knowing you should said/done something better? Avoiding a broken heart.