Dearest,

The air is so think, I'm positively swimming with excitement.  Every moment is in my mind, anticipation like honesty: a kiss on the lips.  My lips are frozen, now, dear; but I cannot speak for my vocal cords have frozen in the summer air; liquid pouring down my throat: inhale, inhale, inhale.  I do not wish to expel the used air, I talk softly; little air makes all seem brighter, more alive somehow.  Falling, I fall, evermore the floor is my pillow, until I'm hearing myself talking to you, dear.  Perhaps my vocal cords were not frozen at all.