December 1795, Paris
I awake consumed with thoughts of you. Your image and the memory of the intoxicating pleasures of last evening have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart. Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried?… My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for your lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings that overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! It was last night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives!
You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours.
Until then, my sweet love, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.
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