Mon amie,
I have received your last message affirming that you've landed at home. And what better affirmation than your safety and happiness there is? I don't know. I want to dearly say sorry for not promptly sending a response. My silence could mean two things: either I am sick at heart or ill at body. The latter disqualified - only I am sick at heart. What are the good that clutch to my clutching to this place. Son of man, you don't know. Where does the sun beat, and the tree give shelter, and the breeze any relief? I too don't know.
Is it possible? That I perhaps feel less heavy at heart soon. And is there anyone to make it possible? And what would the doctor say? Come back, son amie. I want, truly desire and want, more of you. We haven't had much time, and it pains me to survive in this place without the image of you and me. If I should go anywhere in the world right now...where are you?
I miss you deeply, awfully, senselessly. I have missed you since the day I met you. All this time I've longed for nothing but you. Enough of that. Write to me so I know you're happy at home. And write to me so I remain sane at the thought of you sitting there with a bouquet of words for me.
Yours
