April 4, 1932
It’s twelve o’clock, midnight, and I have lost hopes in getting a letter from you, Libinker Pinchos meiner. I am so sorry that it happened so. It seems the only thing I look forward to, and when I do not receive it, then I get an empty feeling. I get lost, I feel as if I were alone in this great big world, and no one cared wether I lived or died. How dreary this would be without you, how empty, meaningless.
It is so windy outside, and so very cold inside. I have three blankets on me and still my feet are as cold as ice.
I will try and cuddle up, maybe it will be warmer. Good night libinker. I think I’ll read “Beethoven” for a while and then I’ll try to sleep. Good night Beloved one.
This letter ends here and continues the next day. I will make the next part another post.