Being apart from you during the hours when the sun glows with warmth and light is difficult, but when that golden sphere vanishes into the western sky, my craving for you intensifies, and the difficult often becomes unbearable. When the sun is replaced by the moon—light is replaced by darkness—an emptiness invades me, often consuming me, permeating the depth of my being and soul.
Each night without you, in a vain attempt to ease my yearning for you, I hold my pillow close, but it is of no real consolation. My Love, caressing that lifeless, heartless, soulless substitute for you seems to only emphasize my longing, with its true purpose being nothing more than a mere thing, an object to absorb the many tears I shed as my very heart and soul ache for the real you.
Each night without you, I reach for your photograph, and run my fingertips across the image of your lips, longing to feel their delicate texture softly touch mine, and am overcome with a thirst, one that can only be quenched with love’s sweet wine from your precious mouth.
Each night without you, I gaze at the image of your sparkling eyes, and my heart aches to see not a flat, cold image, but the depth and warmth of your real eyes and, my Darling, I long to see my own image reflected therein.
Each night, with your picture lovingly held in my hands, I am overwhelmed with an urge to reach out my hands to you, to hold not just a mere photograph, but embrace your wonderful face within them, to then marvel at your sweet smile, and then lean my head closer to feel your warm breath upon my skin, and hear gentle whispers of love from your mouth.
Alas, the picture is much like the pillow—lifeless, heartless and soulless—neither one a worthy substitute for the real you, my dearest Love. So, it is each night without you, I endure the unbearable while I clutch my pillow and hold your picture. My Dearest, there is nothing that will eradicate this longing for you, except the real you.
Loving you always.