How Do I Love Thee? … ,Love Email, IV

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How Do I Love Thee? …
Love Email, IV


Dear Etta,

I look at my desk calendar, and see that last week at this time I was eagerly awaiting your return from abroad. Tonight I am alone again. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my empty bed. I will always remember that last night together at the airport Ramada. I slept well, so especially content and warmed all over by your flesh, by our lying there the night side by side. And when you awoke me ten minutes early that I might still further enjoy the pleasure of your company, I felt as though I had slipped through earthly constraints and entered into a realm that heathen people imagined as paradisiacal. I love the time I had spent with you from that first rainy Thursday date to that final parting kiss at departure gate security.


Now the prospect of your upcoming surgery, it moves to the front of my thoughts. I only wish that whatever the pain or discomfort, I wish that it might be visited upon me instead of you.

Although this Victorian era poems starts trite, a wee-bit ho hum, I believe it adequately describes the nature of love, one person for another.

How Do I Love Thee?
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Good night, Darling. In a few hours I'm traveling for business. After I check the vendors at those Western New Jersey markets, I shall start the search for a new house or apartment.

Yours, S.

LOVE HURTS, Love Email, III

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LOVE HURTS,
Love Email, III

Dearest Etta,


I got off the telephone with you about an hour or so ago, and once again a flood of memories and feelings beset me. Our long distance and our long time apart may be the end of me. Poor me! Poor me! Honest, it is very hard for me to pretend I am grown up, a man about this whole separation business. I feel alone. I am more like a child. I suffer terrible separation anxiety. Right this moment I want to scream aloud, and, if it would do me any good at all, I would. I would scream aloud in pain.


Also, I am having a physical reaction. Juices are being released in my stomach, which never happens to me even when I am hungry. This is not just my imagination. No! I am physically afflicted. Longing for you, just to be near to you, causes me ache even in my forearms. My elbows hurt. I swear I feel the ache of this profound longing even in the calves of my legs, in my knee caps. I know you believe me to be exaggerating, but it's true, darling. It is true! I am now in the middle of some devil angst.

Last night I had another bad spell, very bad. I felt an exhaustion overcome me. I lay down in the bed right off my office area, and almost curled up in a ball. I was in the fetal position. I began to swoon. If only I could come up against you. I need only your body warmth. I need only to be up over and against you.

Playing on the TV set at the bottom of the bed was a PBS special, which now had a segment about the Warsaw Ghetto. I did not actually see the video portion, but the mournful sounds, oh, the so sad background music, matched my interior mood. How's that for big-time sacrilege, down right sinful! It is a terrible comparison, I know. I have no right making it. But I try to portray the mood, the dark-cloud mood over me. My pain over missing you tied to the agony of tens of thousands souls living in Hell and then about to be transported to an absolute Hell. Now you know, sweet heart! Now you know! Now you have a glimpse of the pain I am in. I am truly a lost soul.

Yours, S.

TU, SOLO TU, Love Email II

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TU, SOLO TU,
Love Email II

Dearest A,

I just got off the phone with you. We only spoke a few words but that was enough to totally transport me. Now it seems I am totally verruckt gegangen, wildly elated, dreaming impossible dreams, and in dire need of that balm that only your immediate, physical presence may provide.

I know of a cancion ranchera, a genre loosely translated as Cowboy Song, written by Felipe Valdez Leal in the late 1930's. The song's first stanza:

Miro como ando mujer
Por to querer
Borracho y apasionado
No mas por tu amor

Look at how I'm going around (spinning), woman
Because of your love
Drunk and impassioned
Only for your love.

It may seem small consolation, but when I recite these few lines back to myself and now, also, to you, it reminds me that I am by no means the first to experience such elation. The thought of pistol-packing caballero dizzily in love returns me the universality of my feelings for you. My love for you is another chapter in the long history of a man under the spell of woman.

There we are. All is under proper perspective, and I'm cured.

Seriously, no matter how gaga I have become over you I want to reaffirm some solemn pledges. You are always free to go your own way. I will always respect your decision. Though I may beseech, beg you to do otherwise, I will ultimately prove my true, absolute regard for you and your feelings by honoring your wishes.

So long as we are together you may expect a life free from anger, reproach, or resentment. I will always be honest with you. You may expect nothing but the truth from me, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Of course, I expect the same from you, the truth, that is.

I expect that you and I will always honor our word. As you know already no one person may promise eternal love, love forever. But regarding conduct, one person toward the next, the absolute correspondence between what we say and then what we do, that remains within the realm of human control. The giving any keeping of our word, one toward the other, is the single most important aspect of any human relationship.

If things do not work out for the best, you may believe me when I say I will absent my self from the situation. I shall utterly separate my self from you.

You may also believe me when I say I have some idea of who you are and, though I well know that nothing is easy in human relationships, I feel I have the patience and in this case the maturity to insure, and, in time increase your happiness and well being.

I will always put your life before mine. Etta, please, forgive the dramatics, but I know no other way to put it: Etta, I would die for you.

In the first days of our making the rounds, you asked me if I was always so easy going. I answered affirmatively. Please do not take me for a fool, but I find being by your side easy going indeed!

I remain yours,

S.

TIME FLIES, Love Email I

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TIME FLIES,
Love Email I

Darling A...,

Hello! Darling, Hello,

You left this morning. Yet it seems so long ago. I now live in the memory of our time together. I love the way you walk, the way you bustle along. I wonder how such a beauteous bottom creates so great a propulsion! I marvel at your ever-so-delicate ears, which I for the first time touched this morning of departure. I regret I had not used them to whisper the extent of my desire and devotion.

I wish I had spent sometime kissing the back of your neck. I am glad that I had told you true that no one, ever, has so rapidly laid siege and then captured my heart.

Here's some verse I recited on the way home during our second Thursday date (just as we exited the Lincoln Tunnel and wended our way toward the West Village). It’s not mine rather it belongs to Ernest Dowson.

Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat incohare longam

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

[Though widely published under the title Vitae summa brevis, etc., it seems from the typography in the copy text that this poem is in fact untitled, the Latin inscription having the appearance of being an epigraph.]

I remain yours,

S…

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