Dear
I could tell you that you make me feel on top of the world and that life has never been better, yet even so my friend, I would tell you but a fraction of what my thoughts are, convey to your discerning ears a mere shudder of the quake that trembles within me. The spring colours sing softly to my thoughts; the dainty kiss of the departing winter, the gentle thud of spring landing.
You have received me well, as you always do and we have wined, dined, defined and redefined as indeed we always do. I find you in pleasant health, bursting at the seams with energy and sophistication. Yet your sultry and cynical nature doth manifest themselves every now and again, but not for long enough for me to forget the love we share. As grass green and gentle to the scorching southern sun, I need you by day and I love you by night, I dance in the heat of our romance and shudder in your absence.
I am home again amongst the shadows that lay claim to me. They embrace me with plush sincerity, content to see me in their own special way as indeed I am to see them. Invariably, my heart is heavy and aloof, for
Merci beaucoup
C’est sûr que j’en mourrais,Que j’en mourrais d’amour, Mon amour, mon amour...
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