i don?t want to conceal the love i feel, because i would be throwing away the chance to experience love, denying you the experience of the depth of my love. i lust for you, and i meditate on that lust to let it blossom, until it becomes a greater, deeper love. Such that i can stay with you, stay with that love. My love doesn?t go away, it shall not be diminished, it can't be destroyed. i let go of past love, for it?s too painful to hold on, and there's no way to go on. With you i want to try, i know i shall succeed, because i want to be with you with my love, so i can honor that love, and allow it to deepen. My love for you transcends those of physical needs, i want you to be happy, in ways beyond what i can do to make you happy. My love for you isn?t conditional on the type of connection we end up with, it?s not dependent on becoming romantically involved; my love for you is deeper than that. It?s a spiritual existence, an ensemble of the heart. It?s about the loving being i see, the living being that is also in me. It?s knowing you shall continue to love me as a friend, and how you shower me with love to no end. i feel the tender ways your heart trembles, resonating the sensitive soul you resemble.
My affection for you has a purpose, it is not by accident that i am coming into your life and feeling love. It breaks my heart to see the ways you have been hurt in your quest for love, i want to kiss the tender butterfly of your loving heart, and whisper a healing spell to soothe the wounded part. When that mission is complete, i trust my love to transform itself and prepare for a new feat. i need to do this for you, to fulfill the purpose of the love i feel. i know you wouldn?t ask that of me, yet i shall ask that of myself, for my urge to be genuine and loving, is far more powerful than my fear of embarrassment and rejection. i feel your yearning for this deep love, and i willingly give it to you. Let your heart be open, and receive the healing energy of my love.
At the core of sexual memory there is always for me some image of a man's face, an electric recognition of the absoluteness of his existence. St. Augustine said that love is a form of becoming, and you can see this
happen sometimes in the other person's face as it moves through the banded light thrown off by
improvised physical union. Often it is happening far away, privately, with us merely beside it, though we call it union. Often there is rage, and the fission of its release. Often, with sharp intake of breath,
there is an opening, a curtain thrown back on an utterly new world. In the man's body the woman sees the source of her pleasure and the sculptural aspects of his beauty; carved leaden shaft with delicate wings
lifting for flight, yet it is the face that registers the story, expresses the feeling, creates the sense that one's touch, one's movement, one's life has changed the other person, has reached into the center of his identity, and he has used it to make some kind of rearrangement. The enduring appeal of sex, aside from the great gift of randiness, is an intimacy born of creating stories together: Good sex has an internal narrative, a rhythm, a development, a climax, and a
falling. Narrative demands character and then, having character, demands that the character change. And we do change; though we often cannot retain these changes, while an hour or an evening ago they were so dramatic and so clear. Perhaps the drama of change lovers see in each other, which fades to invisibility in sleep and in the clothed world, doesn't actually disappear rather builds up beneath them, gradually, so that they do not recognize it, even as they stand upon it, high enough to see clearly and yet firm enough to love. You, my eternal lover, as well as i, know that until you believe in yourself enough to trust, to love in full, and to completely surrender, shall languish behind your self imposed walls waiting for your destiny, longing for me. May you embrace your beautiful, delicate inner being to find the love and life you so richly deserve.