How should I start this letter? How does anyone start this letter? This one! The one that says “it”! The epistle in which is all that is held in my heart. How do I say all the things that have been swimming around inside my head for so long it seems. Secretly, I am screaming them, hoping you would hear, so I would not have to say all of it. Though, I know you do hear, or you would not say, “I wish you didn’t like me so much.” But I do. And you know that, this.
You are the song I sing to myself, the thought that stops me in mid . . . whatever. The glow. The smile. I am swinging around a lamppost in the pouring rain singing some silly tune. You are beautiful. You are motion and sound and, at times, air. For years I have kept you in a scrapbook, the vestige of a fantasy I shared with my pillow and the dark silence of my room. Now, that you are flesh to me, my reality seems more delusive. You are descended from Zeus, born from fire, carved of marble. You are mystery and heat. You are a mythical beast hovering over me. Under you, lying back in your bed, I have thought, “this isn’t happening.” But it was, and it did. And we tasted our sweetness, I yours and you mine. You are my vitamin, my daily dose of essential nutrients - wit, absurdity, sex, verse. I crave your nourishment.
I am wrapped in a mantle of everything that is you, or rather everything I have you built you up to be; no, they are the same. You are a mortal and a god, you are the angelic and the evil, you are the giver and the thief.
If the tomorrows to come find me without you, let the one word, “yes”, sound in your head, as it is the answer to all the questions that I ask myself when you are concerned. Yes. Yes! Yes, I do love you. I love to the depths and the breadth as in sonnets and songs. I love as purely as the princess loves her knight in courtly notions. I love from somewhere deep. As I write these words and reflect on the object of my affections I am inspired, and grateful, and overwhelmed. If ever that day comes when my soft curves no longer draw faint lines in your bed and my scent has vanished from your memory, please know the yesterdays I have shared with you, I will muse for eons to follow.