In fever's delirium

 
I long to feel your touch, I long to keep touching you.
Will you place your hand upon my forehead?
Tell me, do you ever feel me?


Today I have nowhere urgent to go,
yet not a moment's extra sleep will come.
I long to see you close, so close,
I long to rest my head upon your chest,
I long so deeply for your tenderness!
I could weep, I miss you terribly.


Tell me, do you ever miss me?
Do you ever long to hold me close?


Why do you never say anything? Why do you never ask for anything?
I have so much to tell you,
so many desires, but fear keeps me silent—what if you grow weary of me!


Tell me, why does everything about you flood my thoughts?
Why does it feel so good to think of you as mine?
Why do I love thinking of you always?
Why do I keep saying I love you, again and again?
Why do these silent grievances keep gathering?
Why do I want so much…
for you to love me too, to stay with me,
to hold me close, to feel me?


Tell me, when I write you all these scattered things,
all this mess… seeing this,
do you smile to yourself and think me mad?


You know, sometimes I think myself mad too!


When we talk,
you'll tell me so many, many things.
You'll share a whole world of words with me. Won't you, my magic?


I have such fever. I can't go anywhere.
I've woken, and despite all my trying… sleep won't return.
I wanted to write to you. Listen! Are you listening…?
Why don't you answer even one of my many words?
My heart grows so heavy. The fever rises…


I won't write to you anymore,
if you can avoid me when I'm well,
why shouldn't I be able to avoid you even with this hundred-and-two fever?