Every Seventh Wave Read Online Free PDF

a few more times? It makes me feel good, don’t ask me why. And do you know what else makes me feel good, my love? When you write “my love.” Because I take it literally.
    Yes, sometimes I manage that too. Sleep well.
    Three minutes later
    Re:
    You too, my love.
    Two days later
    Subject: Me writing to you now
    Emmmmmmmmmmmmmmi, I’m drunk. And I’m lonely. Big mistake. Never be both. Either lonely or drunk, but never both at the same time. Big mistake. You asked, “Do you love her?” Yes, I do love her when she’s with me. Or to put it another way: I would love her if she were with me. But she isn’t with me. And I can’t be with her when she isn’t with me. Do you understand, Emmi? I can’t keep on loving women who aren’t with me if I’m with them when I love them.
    London? How was London? Five days satisfying accumulated longing, six days of worrying about the longing yet to come. That’s what London was like. Pamela wants to move over here to live with me. Call her “Pam;” you can call her “Pam” if you like. Only you are allowed to do that. She wants to live with me. She wants to, but will she actually do it? I can’t keep on living off the desires of a woman I love. Living and loving, both at the same time. Never one without the other. Drunk or lonely, never both at the same time. Always one without the other. Do you understand what I’m saying, Emmi?
    Wait a second, I’m just going to pour myself another glass. Red wine, Bourdeaux, the second bottle, tastes of Emmi, as ever. Do you remember? Did you know, Emmi, you’re the only one? You’re the only one, the only one, the only one, “the … It’s hard to find the right words. I’m a bit drunk already. You’re the only one who’s close to me even when you’re not with me, because I’m still with you when you’re not with me. And there’s something else I’ve got to tell you, Emmi. No, I’m not going to, you have a family. You’ve got a husband who loves you. Back then you made a swift exit. You opted for him, you made the right decision. Maybe you’re thinking you’re missing something. But there’s nothing missing from your life. Loving and living—you’ve got them both. I’ve got a both too—I’m lonely and drunk. Big mistake.
    But let me tell you something. I tried to force myself, tried so hard to force myself, I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want not to like you, and I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want anything. I didn’t want to see you. What was the point? You’ve got Bernhard and the children. And I’ve got Pamela. And when she’s not with me, I’ve got wine. But let me tell you something else: you’ve got a gorgeous face, among other things. You look far more innocent than you write. No, you don’t write as though you’re guilty, but sometimes your words are so harsh, you take things to extremes. And yet your face is soft. And beautiful. And I don’t know if you’re happy. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. But you must be. You can live and love, both at the same time. I’m lonely and I don’t feel so great. And what do I get from Pamela if she’s so far away that I stop feeling she’s with me? Do you understand? I’m going to bed. But let me tell you something: I dreamed of you last night, and I saw your actual face. I don’t care about your breasts, large breasts, small breasts, medium breasts, I don’t care at all. But I do care about your eyes and your mouth. And your nose. The way you looked at me and talked to me, and your smell. I do care about all that. And now every word you write to me is your smell and your look, as well as your mouth. I’m going to bed now. I’ll send this email and then I’m going to bed. I hope I hit