Monday, 14 August 1916
He woke up with the sun in his eyes. He sat up on his elbows and shouted out her name. He smiled. He fell back on the pillows, happy. He wanted to shout it out loud to the whole world. To sing it out to them. That creature had been born for him. Sana was his. Only his. Her enamored look was what made passion so beaming. Her little cries of pleasure as she was aroused in his embrace. Everything for him. Only for him. There could be no one else. He jumped up. He was flying low.
He had a bath, mistreating Figaro. He wiped his hair with the towel and looked himself in the mirror. He needed a shave but he would pass for now. Sana liked his stubble. She got a kick out of it. He was missing her already. When did she go? Why did she go without waking him up?’
He paled. He
