There was a postcard waiting for her

There was a postcard waiting for her already when she got back. He wrote it in his native language, which she did not know a word of. She ran it through an online translator and this is what it came up with:

Dear Tamara, j' wanted to remain longer but j' had a plane to catch. Perhaps I will be in spring. My back will be never identical. It wounds all through my spine. Yours, Daniel

The night was not as poetic as she had remembered, but she was grateful for the acknowledgment at any rate.