Thursday, March 19, 2009

LOVE HURTS, Love Email, 3

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LOVE HURTS,
Love Email, 3

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.


 
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