So I truly do want to tell you, if I could buy your life for the price of mine, instantly, for you are the only woman I have chosen according to my heart. All that was delightful with you is wearisome and heavy without you. You alone are my love and longing, you the sweet cooling of my mind, no joy for me anywhere without you. You are devoid of the gall of any faithlessness, you are sweeter than milk and honey, you are peerless among thousands, I love you more than any.

In you is all gentleness, all perfection, so my spirit languishes perpetually by your absence. Indeed when I reflect on the loveliness of your most joyful speech and aspect, I am utterly depressed, for I find nothing now that I could compare with your love, sweet beyond honey and honeycomb, compared with which the brightness of gold and silver is tarnished.

I look about and do not find my lover - she does not comfort me even with a single word. Since I’ve had to be without your sweetest presence, I have not wished to hear or see any other human being, but as the turtle-dove, having lost its mate, perches forever on its little dried up branch, so I lament endlessly till I shall enjoy your trust again. You who are unique and special, why do you make delay so long, so far away? Why do you want your only one to die, who as you know, loves you with soul and body, who sighs for you at every hour, at every moment, like a hungry little bird. To C-–, sweeter than honey or honeycomb, B- sends all the love there is to her love. The original letter, as translated by Dronke, reads as follows.

Death of a Lesbian Nun by Andi Ali