... I can almost look down the tracks and see you going but without you, dearest, dearest, I can't see or hear or feel or think. Being apart--whatever has happened or will happen to us--is like begging for mercy from a storm, Anthony; it's like growing old. I want to kiss you so--in the back of your neck where your old black hair starts. Because I love you and whatever we do or say to each other, or have done, or have said, you've got to feel how much I do, how inanimate I am when you're gone.