As cartas do amor | The love letters

(Segunda carta de amor da coleção comprada na Feira da Ladra)

                                                                                       

2, Lee Park Gateacre, Liverpool

 8.5.1960

Dear V.

Remembering you is the only truth I know.

Having known you is the only beauty of my life. In my heart there is one smile, the smile of your heart in mine when we were together. These are the words of Byron a writer; these are my thoughts, why do you not write?

"Why are thou silent? Is thy love a plant

Of such meak fibre that the treacherous air

Of absence withers what was once so fair?

Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?"

I have so much to say to you, yet my brain is confused, my nerves are taunt, I cannot think clearly. One thought alone dominates all others, the one who ruins, I love you. Nothing more, there can be no more, there is need of nothing more.

Love is the be-all and end all of existence.

God is the ultimate reality, but God is love, therefore, love is the ultimate reality.

You are before me always, I can do nothing without thinking of you from morning till evening, even in my dreams. It s strange thing, I cannot remember your face clearly when I see you it is as though there was a mist between us, yet I can feel your skin, warm and soft, I remember your arms gently, though firmly around me, enveloping me, holding me safe, I feel the silky texture of your hair, I remember your hands. I love to sit at your feet and caress your hand with my check. I love you V. I ask nothing from you, save that you do not betray my trust, for my heart is fragile as china and it can never be mended, for I am young and inocent as the moon, and I am your slave.

"Being you slave what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend
nor services to do till you require"

I am tired, so very very tired. The last time I wrote to you, I did not finish until three o'clock in the morning, but tonight I cannot even keep my eyes open, for they are heavy, and I feel weak.

"O que me falta? Não sei
Talvez a morte, talvez
uma mão acarinhando a minha fronte dorida"

I sleep, perchance to dream, and if to dream, to dream of you, V., for in dreams one finds memories, in dreams I can remember.

"Na noite de todos os tempos
eu queria gravar a luz do teu rosto"

(...)
V. please write, because I love you.
Imelda