My dearest Love,

When have I ever said my dearest Love.

If I have not, it has has been my misfortune, for you are, indeed, a person who makes my heart race, my mind do double takes, my sense of reality check itself at the door, along with a great deal of self-recrimination, though God knows, it is not my conscience that has been challenged.

Love, talk of love, and one talks of a life of longing, a list of desires, a looking for a hero, a stanchion in a world of crumbling realities, a heart in search of itself, a physicality created by mind, body and soul, of human warmth, both mental and physical, and trust, the ultimate in human recognition, of lasting connection, of one’s desires so intimately entwined with another’s that you would will your life to their’s.

And so with all the love, and hope, and warmth and human understanding, the desires of years past, the thoughts of time not taken, of life lost and lust surrendered, such that can be relinquished is done willingly, with expectation that this will not be cast asunder, abused or discarded.

It was a day of fleeting remembrances, of flights of fancy, of leaps of love, of leaves of longing, and in its wake, a hope that another is to be.