Never before have I ever felt such an urge to write you. It’s like my continuously expanding heart were filled with merely words instead of ardent feelings. Or might be that my emotions have chosen to overcome the distance by assuming this temporary form to reach you, as words are all we’ve got for now, my love. And even though the feelings yearn to be turned to kisses, and whispers, and caresses, the heart is overflowing words. So many that I fear I won’t be able to stop from writing too soon. Nor that is my desire. They are yours to read. They are yours to keep. With every promise, every thought, and every dream they hold within.
Because I dream. I dream so much. I dream your whisper and your touch. And many dreams I wouldn’t dare to dream, I dream them now with you, my dear. And as you might already know by now, you are my dearest from them all.
Fells truly heavenly. To love with infinite tenderness, with every smile, every breath, with every single thought and to be blessed to feel as loved in return.
What happiness beyond this have I ever longed for?
You. Always you. I longed for you even before I knew you and still I long for you at any hour. Such is my love for you. And believe me when I say that it is impossible for a man to be loved more tenderly that you are by me. Or more passionately.