At this moment my dear friend, nothing seems hopeful, nothing
seems cheerful, nothing seems bright. There is only the all-encompassing air of
uselessness. I feel my own ineptness and bareness. I sincerely wish that I had
a heart for anything. I have no sentiment for a friend, none for family and not
a soul for a lover. The world in all her business is naught to me. Even as I write
to you, my cherished childhood friend, I write out of necessity, that you perhaps
who countlessly has been a sun in my midnight may be the flower to make me
merry. My Sunny, ironically the sun of my soul, I shall be with you in a few days’
time and if I appear far from my jovial condition, it is because there is an
emptiness in my humanity.
Looking forward to seeing
you desperately hoping your countenance will restore my brightness.
Christopher
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