Letter to a Friend

February, 20--

Dear friend,

I will let you in on a cryptic subject that troubles my mind.  It might horrify and abhor you, but I need to reveal this sensation--this anxious manner that troubles me.  I was very shocked to ascertain that I could unwillingly fall in love with him.  I do not want to be brave and daring, and give my heart away so easily, to an unrequited love that will trouble me eternally.  But, alas, he is a sweet gentle soul; he flourishes with the passing of every page and the absorption of every word.

I wander last night--you know where--and I saw him.  He was beautiful.  The night was so full of him; he was everywhere all at once.  He was in the fluttering of the trees above, in the starry night that muttered with deep regret my isolation, and he was in the dark soil I trotted upon. When I reached him, he was a simple black stone with white letter.  I circled him, observing from every angle.

I had never felt such intimacy. My heart trembled with every look, every rush of wind.  He lured me, as if saying, "Come down and kiss me, gently…deeply."  And so I did.  I knelt before him and pressed my lips upon the grave.  He had made love to me many times before, through his immortal word--the holiest of words--that I have drunk plenty of.  And, I tell you, I will never again be sober as long as those words live within me.  

Yours,

M.