Jun 8, 2011

An example of a love letter

Dearest lover,

This is a confession of my love. Of this love that rages within me like a thunderstorm sweeping furiously all the valleys of my existence. This love can not be contained, it can not be ignored, it can not be denied. This love is too loud, it is too savage, it is uncontrollable.

But you know this all too well; you have tasted it, you have been consumed by it, you have been devastated by its indomitable power. We are defenseless against it, there is nothing we can do to stop it, it has taken a life of its own; its existence is too certain, it is overwhelming. How it devours us, how it chases us relentlessly.

When I first saw you I knew immediately who you were. I saw and understood the history of your life in that tranquil smile, in the intensity of your eyes. I saw the pain, I saw you falling down on your knees and I saw you rising up victorious, undefeated by life. I saw you understood that love is your freedom, that love is to be celebrated and not a sure path to misery. That is when I first knew that our meeting was unavoidable, that our love was written in the book of fate with letters made of the purest gold.

And here we are now, now in this very portion of time, of life. Here we are glorifying each other, celebrating each other, loving each other. What is the future but nothingness? What is the past but a hollow memory? What is more real than now, than you and me unbreakably bound together? This is it; this is what some call true love. I know now that true love can not be measured with a time scale, our true love is this present, this reality. Please do not gaze into the future, it is pointless. Abandon the past, let it go to oblivion where it belongs; let us forever forget our oceans of sadness. Let us honor this very moment, this true love.

And here you are lying by my side, sleeping so placidly. I can feel you breathing, I can feel the heat of your life, I can feel your raw humanity palpitating. I am impregnated with your smell, its exhilarating… it makes me feel as if I have suddenly transformed into you. Is this what people call poetry? Is this feeling and this body the true essence of beauty? Is this the human form of pleasure?

Know that I love you, sublime lover, I confess it, I confess it. This love is true, time is irrelevant,

T.

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