Work of Art

You are a work of art, every inch of which I find beautiful and strangely fascinating. I'd like to kiss the deity that created you, molded and shaped you. I'd like to thank the Fates for weaving you into my pattern, for pulling our threads together, if only for this time. I can't say how long it will last, for all I know tomorrow could be my last day here, but at least I would die having known you, having touched something remarkable.

Don't ever tell yourself that you're not special, that you aren't remarkable and perfect in your own way. I could never forget you. The world is in your eyes, hidden deep in that beautiful soul, shining through in that compassionate heart, and manifest in the gentleness of your touch. I love the way you look at me, the way you meet my eyes, the way that the intensity in your eyes sometimes overwhelms me.

I could, and I have, spent hours just talking about you, just reveling in your voice, your presence. For now though, I'm going to retire, go to sleep and hope to dream about you. Maybe I'll write you a letter, or maybe I'll just look at the paper and think about all the things I want to say, but know I'll never be able to really convey.