Letters, letters

I recived two letters, two actual, handwritten, beautiful, poetic letters this valentines day. One was anonymous. The other, from Iraq. Both brought about the same sentiment: that life is short, and for gods sake, why waste it looking for something or someone that cannot possibly exist.
I lied out on my bed again today and watched the sunset, watching the wind play with loosely fallen snowflakes that hadn't yet found their place amongst the rest of the piles and piles of snow. it was as if the wind was dancing with those flakes, and for a brief moment, I felt more solidarity with those misplaced ice crystals than anything I've ever felt before. Who am I trying to kid? I'm stuck in a phase, trying to figure out who I am and trying to see if there is anyone out there that is going to accept me for this person I may be. I feel like one of those snowflakes, being tossed and turned by life, and perhaps it's a sign that i need to pay attention more.
I walked alone tonight, practically knee deep in snow and passed, on separate occasions, four people speaking spanish. It's times like these when all i want is to go home; to go to a place where people seemed to "get" me more, to understand all my idiocyncracies or at least accept them for what they were. I haven't experienced homesickness like this in almost a year. Homesick for a place that I don't even belong. Homesick because I don't even know where home is anymore.
These letters are beautiful and give me hope. But also give me a sense of loneliness. Just as the anonymous person falsely (although perhaps sweetly) claims to love me, s/he does not know who I am. Because no words can express me accurately, no actions, no voice. You think you love me, but you only know a part of me, however big, however small. You say you want to be remembered. A true claim in the face of death, a voice of reason in the madness of destruction. Of course you want to be remembered. And I will remember you, just as you wish that I remember you: fighting for something we can never attain. I love you and respect you but I could never be you. I cannot relate to your pain, because I can only imagine the existential pain that can come with killing another.
I'm sad. and I feel trapped. And even now, after 4 years in this place, and 21 years in this life, I don't know how to get out.