I can't talk to you on this infernal
machine, my hands groping around just as senselessly as my thoughts. I
tell you, liebchen, blindness is bad business. It sounds well in a poem,
but it's a bad thing to live with. It's bad to wake up in the night
sometimes and think that it will be daylight soon and then remember that
it will never be daylight for you again!
"I wish you were here. I'm just in the mood for talking--not talking,
perhaps, but having you close to me, and understanding.
"There's one thing that there's no perhaps about. That's you. There's no
perhaps when it comes to our love. There's no perhaps--
"Now, that made me fall a-dreaming. I stopped writing and lighted my pipe
and sat a long time, thinking of you. It's 'our hour'--I know that,
because I heard the clock strike. Where are you? Why aren't you here?
"I want you. Believe I said that before, but if I said it a thousand
times, I couldn't make it strong enough. I don't know why I want you like
this--this soul want. It isn't just your kisses, your sweetness, the dear
things about you.
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