Love letter # 232

Loving you has been really good for my weight – because whenever I see you I am sick with nerves and simply cannot eat. Your impact is so utterly physical; and all of my fine assertions and splendid determinations are simply melted on sight. It’s as though I have no defence whatever. Something about you shoots me right through.

Partly I’d like to run away – to sidestep this debilitating desire – but then when you are in my presence I am drawn to you so powerfully that all I can think of is your beauty and how much I would like to wrap you in my arms.

Tonight I will sleep alone once more but yearn for you to be next to me. In the morning I will crash into wakefulness with your name as my very first thought.

This, I realise, is the most primitive longing – the hard wired, hormonal hunger for touch and that mad delusion we are wont to call love. And much as I want you, I also want to be free of this stomach churning, nerve shredding, sanity destroying want.

Perhaps your kiss would dissolve it all – or maybe your absence. I cannot tell. I have surrendered that capacity to the overwhelming fever that strikes me when you smile.

I am hoping that perhaps you will help me steer a path out of this – put me out of my misery or dive into this heady sea and be with me.

Is this the craziest letter you have ever received? I hope so – because then you will know that whatever else happens in your world there is a fool nearby with a bright light burning just for you.

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2 thoughts on “”

  1. My handsome, intellectual, musical and financially comfortable husband and I, not so beautiful and penniless, loved each other for 41 years. To the day he died at 84 years plus 1 month and 1 day, we argued less than a dozen times although our professional interests differed. I think that the above letter describes desire and passion rather than love.

    My love for my husband has become stronger as time goes on. During our marriage, I more or less took for granted that, except for his unbelievably good look, he was the same as other men from similar backgrounds.

    Although our marriage was a pleasant adventure for both of us, since his death, as a professional interpreter, I have become aware of other men’s intimate details, physical, intellectual and emotional, to realise how I have underestimated my husband’s features and intellect.

    Thus at 74 I am still trying to define love according to my knowledge and intimate experience.

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