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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