A long time ago, when I was living in my favorite apartment behind a bamboo patch in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I wrote my first love letter. It was a liquid hot afternoon, and I was sitting on my screened porch, enjoying my boredom, thinking that I was full up with the very thought of her. I drew a pretty cool heart on a piece of newsprint, rolled that into a manual typewriter, and then pecked out about 15 sentences. I took more than an hour. I had to. I couldn’t edit, and I couldn’t use Wite-Out. It worked too. That woman was happy。

　　很久以前，我住在亞拉巴馬州塔斯卡盧薩市。有一天在我最喜歡的那套公寓里時(shí)，我寫(xiě)下了我的第一封情書(shū)。公寓在一片竹林后面。那是一個(gè)天氣炎熱的下午，陽(yáng)光穿透竹林在門(mén)廊里留下許多斑點(diǎn)，我坐在門(mén)廊里無(wú)聊著，卻滿(mǎn)腦子里想的都是她。我在一張新聞?dòng)眉埳袭?huà)下了一顆相當(dāng)漂亮的心，把它放進(jìn)手動(dòng)打印機(jī)里，然后打印出了大約15個(gè)句子。我花了一個(gè)多小時(shí)。這是必須的。我不能編輯，我也不能用修正液涂改。見(jiàn)效了。那個(gè)女人高興了。

　　So happy that she stuck it on the door of her refrigerator, where it clung to a magnet-laden collage of birthday cards, Easter cards, thinking-of-you cards. This irked me. “It’s a love letter,” I told her. “It’s only for you. You’re supposed to save it. It’s supposed to be folded up in a book somewhere。” She didn’t get it. She treated it like a card。

　　她很開(kāi)心，于是她把情書(shū)貼在冰箱門(mén)上。冰箱門(mén)上貼滿(mǎn)了生日賀卡、復(fù)活節(jié)卡片和思念卡，它們仿佛組成了一幅拼圖。這個(gè)讓我很惱火。我對(duì)她說(shuō)：“這是一封情書(shū)。只寫(xiě)給你一個(gè)人的情書(shū)。你應(yīng)該保存它。它應(yīng)該夾在一本書(shū)里什么的。” 她不聽(tīng)。她把情書(shū)當(dāng)一張明信片一樣對(duì)待了。

　　When writing a love letter, remember: It's not a card. It's a letter。

　　在寫(xiě)情書(shū)的時(shí)候，記住：它不是明信片。它是一封信。

　　First, sit. Letters take time。

　　首先，坐下。寫(xiě)信是要花時(shí)間的

　　Letters have a rhythm. Letters must be written, and writing takes a while. Three lines can’t do the work of three paragraphs. This is not to say your letter must be long. Three paragraphs can do the work of three pages. Just give them some time。

　　情書(shū)是有韻律的。情書(shū)應(yīng)該是書(shū)寫(xiě)出來(lái)的，而寫(xiě)信要花點(diǎn)時(shí)間。三行文字的情書(shū)是不能和三段文字的情書(shū)相提并論的。這不是說(shuō)你的情書(shū)一定要長(zhǎng)。三段也可以起到三頁(yè)的作用?；ㄐr(shí)間吧。

　　Be loyal to the past you share。

　　認(rèn)真分享的往事

　　If your love emerged on a kayak trip, then you don’t just mention that experience — you make it. Let the river become your palette. Tell a story that only the two of you know. Or narrate a moment in which she was unaware that you were watching her. Use detail to show what you remember and that you remember。

　　如果你是在一次獨(dú)木舟之旅遇到你的愛(ài)情的，那么你就不要只提那次經(jīng)歷了，讓那條河流成為你的調(diào)色板，在你的筆下再創(chuàng)造一次那樣的經(jīng)歷。講述一個(gè)只有你們兩個(gè)人知道的故事?；蛘呙枋鲆粋€(gè)她沒(méi)有留意到你在注視著她的時(shí)刻。使用細(xì)節(jié)來(lái)展示你記住的美麗往事。

　　Let the example precede sentiment。

　　先舉例后動(dòng)情

　　A good love letter declares itself plainly, then illustrates particularly. “I saw you watching the men play chess in the park. So quiet. I love the way you look at things。” Show her what you love in her before you tell her what you love in her. Show, then tell。

　　一封好的情書(shū)本身既能簡(jiǎn)單地說(shuō)明，也能具體地描述。“我看到你在公園里看他們下國(guó)際象棋。很安靜。我喜歡你看東西時(shí)的那種表現(xiàn)。”在你告訴她哪些方面惹你喜歡之前，先向她展現(xiàn)你喜歡她的那些地方。先展示，然后再說(shuō)。

　　Don’t repeat yourself。

　　不要老重復(fù)

　　Emotional declarations matter more if you space them a little. Even in a short letter, you must create room. With love, there’s value in scarcity. That’s why it feels like such a jackpot。

　　情緒表達(dá)更重要，如果你給它們騰出一點(diǎn)空間的話。即使是在一封簡(jiǎn)短的情書(shū)里，你必須要?jiǎng)?chuàng)造出空間。有了愛(ài)，貧乏中也會(huì)有價(jià)值。這也是最吸引人的地方，那感覺(jué)就像中了頭彩一樣。

　　Most of all, remember that it’s private。

　　最重要的是，記住，情書(shū)是私信

　　Say something that surprises you about yourself. Let her know that she is redefining your terms. In this way most, a love letter is like love itself. There must be risk。

　　說(shuō)一些能讓自己驚喜的關(guān)于自己的事情。讓她知道她要去重新認(rèn)識(shí)你。這樣的話，情書(shū)更像是戀愛(ài)，有一定的風(fēng)險(xiǎn)。