My own laundry list for being in love – easy on the eye (check), makes me laugh (check), fits in with my friends and family (check), wants a child in their life (check) – it’s the lagniappe that I forgot to mention in my own list to myself. That someone could love profoundly like me, have the depth of person to unfold slowly, and then to top it off profess that love in such a fashion as to make me swoon over an email, a text message, or save the sweet voice mail message to replay over and over. Alas, my love seems to have a list that is boundless in its own right and sends me sweet missives such as below:
Kafka: Letters to Milena
Since I love you (and I do love you, you stupid one, as the sea loves a pebble in its depths, this is just how my love engulfs you–and may I in turn be the pebble with you, if Heaven permits), I love the whole world and this includes your left shoulder, no, it was first the right one, so I kiss it if I feel like it (and if you are nice enough to pull the blouse away from it) and this also includes your left shoulder and your face above me in the forest and my resting on your almost bare breast. And that’s why you’re right in saying that we were already one and I’m not afraid of it, rather it is my only happiness and my only pride and I don’t confine it at all only to the forest.