A Love Letter From Mig
Last night, there was a moment before you got into bed. You stood, quite naked, bending forward a little – talking. It was only for an instant. I saw you – I loved you so – loved your body with such tenderness. Ah, my dear! And I am not thinking now of “passion”.
My Darling,
Please don’t think that just because you find these words in your personal journal, I’ve invaded your space. You know I haven’t – and where else could I possibly leave a love letter? I’m eager to write you one tonight. You surround me completely – I feel you in my breath, hear you in my thoughts, and sense you within me…
When you visited for tea this afternoon, you took a brioche, split it in half, and gently pressed the soft inside with your fingers. You always have that little ritual with any bun or roll – your head tilted slightly as you do it…
As you opened your suitcase, I caught a glimpse of your old Feltie, a French book, and a comb all jumbled together. “Tig, I’ve only got three handkerchiefs.” Why does that memory bring me such joy?
Last night, just before you slipped into bed, there was a fleeting moment. You stood there, completely bare, leaning slightly forward as you spoke. It lasted only a heartbeat, but in that instant, I saw you and felt an overwhelming love for you – a deep affection for your body that was so gentle. Oh, my darling! I’m not referring to mere “passion” here.
No, it’s something deeper that makes every part of you feel incredibly valuable to me – your delicate shoulders, your warm, creamy skin, your ears that are cool like seashells – your long legs and the way I adore intertwining my feet with yours – the sensation of your belly and your slender back.
Just beneath the prominent bone at the nape of your neck, there’s a small mole. It’s partly our youth that evokes this tenderness in me – I cherish your youthfulness – I would be heartbroken if even a chill breeze were to touch it, if I had the power to protect it.
You and I, we have everything ahead of us, and I believe we will accomplish remarkable things – my faith in us is unwavering. My love for you is so profound that it leaves me in a state of quiet reverence. I desire no one else as my lover and friend, and to you alone will I remain devoted.
I am yours forever.
Ming
To John Middleton Murry, 28 March 1915 By Katherine Mansfield
Jack, I shan’t hide what I feel today. I woke up with you in my breast and on my lips. Jack, I love you terribly today. The whole world is gone. There is only you. I walk about, dress, eat, write – but all the time I am breathing you. Time and again I have been on the point of telegraphing you that I am coming home as soon as Kay sends my money. It is still possible that I shall.
Jack, Jack, I want to come back,
And to hear the little ducks go
Quack! Quack! Quack!
Life is too short for our love even though we stayed together every moment of all the years. I cannot think of you – our life – our darling life – you, my treasure – every-thing about you.
No, no, no. Take me quickly into your arms. Tig is a tired girl and she is crying. I want you , I want you. Without you life is nothing.
Yours woman
Tig
Katherine Mansfield was born Kathleen Beauchamp in Wellington, New Zealand. A talented writer, she became famous for her story ‘Prelude’. During her stay in Germany, in the year 1911, she met and fell in love with John Middleton Murry. In 1918, Katherine was diagnosed with tuberculosis and died 1923. John Middleton Murry became guardian of her transcripts and for the next twenty years of his life spent it editing and publishing the letters, journals, stories and poems Katherine left behind.
– Ursula, Doyle.Love letters of great woman. Pan Macmillan, 2009
Ebba Brahe to Gustavus Adolphus
Most gracious illustrious Master
Friend, and King,
Her majesty the Queen compelleth me to wed Count Jacob de la Gardie at the palace next Sunday. Have pity upon me, your Majesty, and save me from this horror. You know full well how I devoted my heart to you when you plighted me your heart’s troth. If your Majesty come not in your own person to my relief, then must I relinquish all hope of another happy hour during this my earthly term. Come to the aid of your dear Ebba, who loves your Majesty unto pallid death.
Kelahan, M. (2011). The world’s greatest love letters. In The world’s greatest love letters. New York, NY: Fall River Press.
Background Information
Ebba Brahe (1596-03-16 — 1674-01-05), a countess, wrote an agonizing letter to her then young love King Gustav II Adolf. The young king of Sweden is the son of Karl IV and Kristina, Queen Kolstein Gottorp. Ebba was a lady in waiting to Queen Christina (Dowager). Ebba and Gustaf Adolf intended marrying as soon as he got home, but Dowager Queen Kristina disapproved their plans and instead wanted the king to marry a royal bride. To prevent the marriage from taking place, she attempted to get her son, Gustaf Adolf to doubt his love and fidelity. The Queen finally pushed Ebba into a marriage with Admiral Jacob De la Gardie. The young Gustaf Adolf returns from a decisive battle with Denmark to find his love married off. Dismayed, he contemplated death by suicide. He thus convinced himself, his duty to his people superseded his personal happiness and eventually congratulated the young couple on their union. Ebba and her husband went on to have 14 children of which only seven survived to adulthood, a flourishing career and prominence.
Gustaf Adolf II married Maria Eleonora of Brandenburg and became parents of Queen Kristina the last of the Vasa dynasty.
The Vonnegut Love Letters
Whom I love and shall love all my life. To be shown to our children when they begin to wonder what things are most important in this world that some fools call hell.
– Presented when we were too young to even be engaged.
Tonight I am a stooge, something I will never tolerate in later life—I’ve got to many chromosomes. About us you see the rather nifty offices of the Cornell Daily Sun. I’ll kiss you in them on November first, an event without precedent, I’m sure. I’m writing headlines; being told by another person just how long they must be, and what they must say. Oh dammit: Abraham Lincoln, J. Christ, Mickey Mouse, or Freud never took orders from anybody in later life–later life again, these are though chains, darling, not classic literature.
I’ve designed a house, plans for which will be neatly drawn up and mailed in due time. There’s that word, our little chum that stuffs sand through hour glasses. My cold is gone and I’m raising hell in all my courses and after rushing is over I’ll knock the wind out of the goddam sun. I haven’t done a decent job on anything since Christ was a corporal, but with two mouths to feed a real machine hits the road next Monday.
You’ve given me a million ideas and drive I’ve never had before, but my God I’ve got to see you, simply got to. I want a boost from you that’ll set this foolish world of inferior mating’s and chromosome atrocities on its bruised fanny.
I’ll be there the fifteenth or sixteenth, wearing a beat up sports coat, saddle shoes with paint from the bar all over them, torn flannel slacks with acid holes in them, not a ____ in my pockets, clean underwear, sox, shirt and tie. Hide me from the boys, sugar foot, but be nice to me, for God’s sake love me; I’ll have enough for an evening of brews and one for bruises.
I’ll show you my text book—-sexy, eh?—when you get up here. Damned if I wont know plenty about plenty that people will pay me for. How much are babies? I love you.
Sorry, can’t afford lingerie. you’ll just have to go naked for the first few years. That’s the way it’ll have to be darling. I don’t like the idea any more than you do, but we’ll have a few lean years, and we won’t always be lean.
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