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You may slightly change it or simplify it.
Happiness embraces me carefully like a wafer-thin skin around my sorrow.
Rapidly a leaf in autumn awaits to be blown away, scared, tender. A silent sorrow.
A beautiful sorrow, silenced, passive, intens. Shredded, torn, words, which sound so majestically in the Dutch language. Only because no one uses them anymore. Maybe because very few still feel these words. Hence why I long for a language, which rushes through you, like sorrow pushes your mouth corners upwards with some trouble and a melancholly smile emerges, if your love pushes a buning arrow through the night, if you’re searching feverishly for words that are not, that role on your lips. Tingling softly on your tongue, touching your lips. A tongue in which sorrow and joy express so much with few words.
And where people surrounding you know a little of what you mean. Or in any case know to find the right words to evoke the idea that they understand you.
A serene sorrow and a love on my lips. A love for a man. Sometimes a boy, usually a man (or in any case am I a woman but usually a girl?) A love for a country. Maybe idealized, enormousy idealized, made beautifully with some metaphores. But a sincere love. And a love for a city to which I haven’t been to. Mysteriously, invitingly, attractively, inconcurrable, passionate, irrepressible
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Im working on it myself, as İ wrote it as an essay and would like it in turkish, but an example to work with would be great. THANKS!!!
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But we'll get tehre by hard working 
! I will bring two back with me - one I shall call Cathy and the other....Esther 
!!!!!!
Yes, I am looking forward to sampling your new cooking skills 
