Love Letters – 7
(4 March 1986)
I sit here in a daze, conscious of myself only through the throbbing of my arteries. All thoughts and memories come rushing out of my mind together.
Only one thing has brought me to this frightening condition. In my adoration of you do I suffer, my heart will soon expand, explode as the deep hopelessness of my sorry plight comes to me. I feel a growing pallor on my face, without understanding fully what is happening. I have a deep presentiment of something terrible to my being.
How well does my memory guide me to the tenderness of your touch, the sweet smell of your skin under my lips. I want dearly to tug at your hand and plunge it deep inside the warmest softest areas of my body, to melt under your gentle touch.
Yet again my thoughts turn despondently, despairingly that I may never yet again experience the ecstasy of being with you, of hearing your sweet voice or tasting the milk of your kindness.
I hurl myself wantonly upon your mercy. I long to feel the momentous, mounting desire inside of me swell up and then leave me suddenly, restfully at peace, serene in my consciousness of you.
I implore you not to spurn me unmercifully as my whole desperate being would dissolve in despair at the thought that I might lose you and the sweetness of my memories and sensations of you could not overcharge my grief should this be so.
Your face is scarcely out of my restless dreams. I do not know, cannot think, what to do, I dare not do anything in case any movement would cause me to wake and lose the wondrous vision of you.
I am racked with desire for you but confusion is descending on my troubled mind, how my lust and misery is overtaking me, my lips are parched, dry and my snivelling sobs choking me as everything is pushed from me in my grief at not seeing you.
I sit motionless throughout the day, sighing deeply. I know there is no antidote for how I feel and I must suffer silently, putting on a false face for the world deep in the knowledge that the only true relief from my suffering lies in your hands. Such tender, practised hands and your eyes that search straight into the depths of my soul piercing through all pretence to the innermost corners beneath.
I am temperamentally incapable of tearing myself away; you add a certain spice to my pleasure the flavour of which was previously unknown to me. I am enraptured by you and seized with sudden joy in the thought that we may unite again soon. I beg you not to prolong my suffering, to stifle my sobs
I pray you are not amazed at my stupidity or shocked by my audacity in writing you so, but a continual fascination draws you constantly to my thoughts with overpowering magnetism.
I feel oppressed by the atmosphere around me and need to clear my head, to still my anguish.. I long to escape from myself. After one ache of despair comes another and another as I strive to remember vanished delights. I am gripped by curiosity of you, the innermost you which remains hidden from my view.
I call upon you once again to devise an occasion for us to meet so that I need ponder no longer my fate, that the foreboding I experience may be quietened in my mind.
I leave you now, forever in my thoughts.
X X X
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