跪求初二优美的英语文章

很感人的一篇爱情文章，我上初e69da5e887aae79fa5e二时就被老师推荐去读。对写作文开拓思路也有好处。

Hungry For Your Love

It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it
is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I
stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this
nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing
with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward
to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my
own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of
them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour
to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with
tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I
be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my
emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer
than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a
dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a
mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I
notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire.
She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that
she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to
look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I
cannot tear my eyes from hers.

Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A
beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen
one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with
a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to
pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of
death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in
time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that
spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of
course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given
me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it
over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle.
Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy
to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart
move with emotion.

For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few
words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my
belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I
know I am feeding hers as well.

One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another
camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end
for me and my friend.

The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely
speak as I say what must be said: Do not bring me an apple tomorrow,
I tell her. I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each
other again. Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the
fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me
standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl
sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and
over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle
words, I taste those apples.

And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has
ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost
everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still
have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives
me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.

Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend
convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his.
Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like
me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.

Where were you during the war? Roma asks me gently, in that delicate
way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

I was in a concentration camp in Germany, I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering
something painful yet sweet.

What is it? I ask.

I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman, Roma
explains in a voice suddenly very soft. You see, when I was a young
girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a
prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I
remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the
fence, and he would be so happy.

Roma sighs heavily and continues. It is hard to describe how we felt
about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few
words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I
assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think
that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were
given together.

With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look
directly at Roma and ask, And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do
not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?

Why, yes, Roma responds, her voice trembling.

But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?

I take her hands in mine and answer, Because I was that young boy, Roma.

For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from
each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul
behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have
never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally, I speak: Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I
don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I
want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?

I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says,
Yes, I will marry you, and we embrace, the embrace we longed to
share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now,
nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma
again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to
show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that
promise.

Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor
her on national television. I want to tell her infront of millions of
people what I feel in my heart every day:

Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And
I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only
hungry for your love.