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My love, it is thinking of you that keeps me sane. When I get a moment I open my memories of you as if I were reading. Your long dark hair—I always imagine you wearing the blouse with the tiny roses, the white one that opened down the back—your eyes that said so much without words, the way you lowered your head when I said anything that embarrassed you, and the clean nape of your neck.
我的爱人，只有想着你，我才能保持清醒，一有时间我便像读书般在回忆中温习你的样子。你长长的黑发——我时常想象着你穿着带有小玫瑰花的衬衫，那件白色的，后面底下开着口——你那会说话的眼晴，当我说任何让你尴尬的话时你低头的样子，还有你光洁的后颈：
The day I think about most was the day we climbed the head at Ballycastle. In a hollow, out of the wind, the air full of pollen and the sound of insects, the grass warm and dry and you lying beside me your hair undone, between me and the sun. You remember that that was where I first kissed you and the look of disbelief in your eyes that made me laugh afterwards.
我想的最多的是我们爬上巴里卡斯尔山顶的那一天。在山洞里，没有风，空气里满是花粉，还有昆虫的声音，草地温暖而干燥，你躺在我的身边，头发散着，散在我和阳光之间。你是否记得那是我笫一次亲吻你的地方，你眼中流露出难以置信的神情，以后每每回想起来，我就禁不住开怀大笑。
It makes me laugh now to see myself savouring these memories standing alone up to my thighs in muck. It is everywhere, two, three feet in the clay and my head in the clouds. I love you, John.
如今我独自站在深及大腿的淤泥中，回味着这些记忆，这让我发笑。到处都是这样，有两三英尺深的泥土，我的大脑充满幻想。我爱你。约翰。
He did not bother to put the letter into the envelope but opened another.
他并未把那封信装入信封，而是打开了另一封。
