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19 décembre 2007 @ 23:12
Shrouded in Darkness  
The ice flows down the river in large sheets, and snow covers the ground, so far as my feeble eyes – pained by the light – can see, and the branches of great trees tremble like ghosts in the frigid wind. It is as though the freezing temperature has banished from my mind any memory of the sun’s warmth, green foliage, and above all walking arm-in-arm with you, apperception.

Yes. Within my heart beats a furious hunger for the masculine companionship only you have provided. How did I end up in this strange and bewildering land? Everything portends death and infertility. I enter upon my drawing room and spy a dried rose left from autumn. Its shrunken face reminds me of joys now past and of a vital essence that has vanished from my veins. I listen to the Sonate a la Maresienne and can hear deep within its pulsing grace a virility that I now lack. I eat a tender duck cooked in cream and mustard, and the sharpness of the sauce reminds me only of my own flaccid and helpless spirit. What has become of me?

For it was not always this way. I can remember charging through the woods on my mare, with you only a few paces ahead on your stallion. When we stopped to water, our brows covered in sweat and dust, we would admire the stallion’s protuberance. I always wished for a faster horse.

And now in my old age, secluded in this frosty glen, I look back upon those days and wish that I could recapture some feeling of the fledgling manhood that has left me utterly. In the middle of the night, I will often awake in this dark and drafty house, and the dust and smell of oak is a casket to me. I’m afraid that I will soon perish.

When you receive my missive, I ask that you raise your goblet to me, my dearest apperception, and be thankful for the days you have left.

with love,

and tenderness,

yours forever,