I love you

My dear darling of my heart, my precious stone, my highest and most precious, my virtues, my merits, my hope, the forgiveness of my sins, my future sanctity, how I love you!

To be with the people one loves, said Sir La Bruyere, is enough-- to dream you are speaking to them, thinking of them, thinking of the most indifferent things, but by their side..nothing else matter.

O mon amie, how true that is! and it is also true that when one acquires such a habit, it becomes a necessary part of one's existance. Alas! I well know, I should know too well, since the past few weeks that I sigh, far away from thee, that I possess thee not, that my happiness has departed. However, when every morning I wake up, I look for thee, it seems to me that half of myself is missing and that is too true.

Many times during the day, I ask myself where you are; judge how strong the illusion is, and how cruel it is to see it vanish. when I go to bed, I do not fail to make room for you. This movement is mechanical, these thoughts are involuntary. Ah! how one accustoms oneself to happiness. One only knows it well when one has lost it. I cannot be healed, my dear; I have enough in my heart to love always, and, because of that, enough to weep always.

It seems to me, to myself, that no man has ever before to any woman what you are to me. How shall I ever prove to you what my heart is to you? How will you ever see it as I feel it? I ask myself in vain. I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes- and as cold as charity, chastity or any other virtue.

My heart is full of so many things to say to you-ah- there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all.

I'll leave you now, yet, remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours
The Gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be.

All My Love