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CURTAINS, A LOVE LETTER © 2002 Wanda L. Harrell
Even in the cold darkness of the winter night, as the quilt around me imprisons my body to stillness, the mind within this weary head does not really rest as it lay upon the cool linen of my pillow. My mind whirls with daydreams and memories, diverse reflections of you, precious recollections and thoughts that are first, gentle & loving, followed by those that are erotic & wild. Alas, all this is nothing new, for as hard as I try to be realistic, my waking mind is frequently filled with thoughts of you.
When exhaustion, finally overcomes me, and slumber give my body rest, even then, my mind does not find respite, for that is when thoughts of you become dreams.
In one of my dreams, it is a warm springtime night, and I am lying in bed, but am not asleep. I watch as streams of faint light from the clouded moon seep through the open window across the room, providing just enough illumination for me to see the curtains covering it. Quietly, I consider the ghostly, sheer fabric, slowly dancing about in the gentle breeze, both curtains seeming alive, displaying a yearning for each other, as if each has a human desire to wrap around the other in a passionate embrace, vividly reminding me of our shared passion.
Hushed and still, I enviously observe the curtains entwine in their increasingly frenzied dance of ardor. My heart provides the music for their dance, pounding, beating in a furious and hot-blooded rhythm. Suddenly, tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I become conscious that the curtains are mere objects, having not a thinking mind, beating heart or living body.
As I watch these bodyless things give the impression of enjoying the passionate intimacy I so desire with you, the one man I truly love, the one who excites my very being unlike I have ever known before, resentment of the curtains, these things, begin to emerge from my soul. Then, my dream ends abruptly in sad acceptance that in that room only those lifeless objects will make the entwining movements of passion that night.
My darling, I yearn for our bodies to entwine again, mine with yours, yours with mine, just as those imaginary curtains. But unlike them, you and I are real, alive with desires, wants and needs. I want again for all my senses to be heightened as only you can do. I want to hear your affectionate whispers and naughty remarks in my ear; feel the gentle touch of your fingertips trace lightly across my pale, sensitive flesh; taste your soft, moist lips as they meet mine in a passionate kiss; see my own primal and ecstatic reflection mirrored in the erotic, deep brown pools of your eyes; smell your unique and wonderful masculine fragrance as we unite, blending and merging until the heat of our passion fuses our bodies into one unified being.
I do so desire you to occupy the vacant space next to me, to warm the cool sheets, heat the cold emptiness with your fiery touch, igniting uninhibited passion with me. I cannot help but wonder if that empty place will remain forever barren of you, with only my intangible memories providing sustenance for your essence, and my dreams, both day and night, rapidly becoming a whirling-twirling, never-ending fantasy in my mind.
Ah, my sweet love, it is true that I do ache to see you, touch you, hold you and love you again. That ever active mind of mine knows that cannot be at this time, so instead of holding you, my arms shall clutch a lifeless, unresponsive pillow while I wonder if I shall ever have you here next to me. Darling, of many things in this life, I am unsure. But, of one thing, I am very certain, and that is that I shall always love you, completely and sincerely.
Loving you forever and always
DREAM DANCING, A LOVE LETTER © 2001 Wanda L. Harrell
With dysphoric heart, I concede distance now separates our mortal bodies from touching, so it is my lover's plea that you dream...with me and of me. When, after an arduous day, your weary body rests, allow your sleeping mind to reach out through the black, velvet sanctuary of night, to pull me close to you, enfolding me securely within your powerful embrace. Then, allow your slumbering spirit to dance with mine, just the two of us, slowly twirling and swirling about the universe on the soft, black velvet of night, amidst the shimmering light of the heaven's stars. My love, the only music necessary for our dreaming dance of passion will be the sounds of our thundering hearts as they beat in perfect unison, combining with the melodious sound of our lover's secret whispers.
In your dream, feel the warmth of my breath upon your neck as I lay my head upon your shoulder, and you pull me closer and closer, until our bodies ultimately entwine until there is no you and no me, just us, a singular united life force overflowing with passion so ardent its strength can overcome nature's obstacles that lay between us, the seemingly endless miles; the lofty mountains crowned with snow; the sheltering, lush green valleys; unquenched desert sands, and determined rivers coursing their ribboned paths to unite with the dark, immeasurable fathoms of the powerful sea.
Darling, until our mortal bodies can be reunited, do continue to dream with me. Until our eagerly anticipated reunion of flesh and blood occurs, whenever night falls, when the sun bows her brilliant head to the cool light of the moon's, if we dream together, our spirits shall unite in our intimate dream dance amidst the stars on the soft, black velvet of night.
Loving you always
EACH NIGHT, A LOVE LETTER © 2000 Wanda L. Harrell
Being apart from you during the hours when the sun glows with warmth and light is difficult, but when that golden sphere vanishes into the western sky, my craving for you intensifies, and the difficult often becomes unbearable. When the sun is replaced by the moon—light is replaced by darkness—an emptiness invades me, often consuming me, permeating the depth of my being and soul.
Each night without you, in a vain attempt to ease my yearning for you, I hold my pillow close, but it is of no real consolation. My Love, caressing that lifeless, heartless, soulless substitute for you seems to only emphasize my longing, with its true purpose being nothing more than a mere thing, an object to absorb the many tears I shed as my very heart and soul ache for the real you.
Each night without you, I reach for your photograph, and run my fingertips across the image of your lips, longing to feel their delicate texture softly touch mine, and am overcome with a thirst, one that can only be quenched with love’s sweet wine from your precious mouth.
Each night without you, I gaze at the image of your sparkling eyes, and my heart aches to see not a flat, cold image, but the depth and warmth of your real eyes and, my Darling, I long to see my own image reflected therein.
Each night, with your picture lovingly held in my hands, I am overwhelmed with an urge to reach out my hands to you, to hold not just a mere photograph, but embrace your wonderful face within them, to then marvel at your sweet smile, and then lean my head closer to feel your warm breath upon my skin, and hear gentle whispers of love from your mouth.
Alas, the picture is much like the pillow—lifeless, heartless and soulless—neither one a worthy substitute for the real you, my dearest Love. So, it is each night without you, I endure the unbearable while I clutch my pillow and hold your picture. My Dearest, there is nothing that will eradicate this longing for you, except the real you.
Loving you always
IMITATION OF YOU, A LOVE LETTER © 2000 Wanda L. Harrell
With the darkness enveloping me and all that surrounded me, and with my head gently resting upon my pillow, my arms encircled and caressed another pillow for a necessary, but incomplete imitation of you. Slowly, ever so slowly, I drifted off for much needed rest into that peaceful oblivion we call sleep. But, all the while my body rested, my mind worked, spinning dreams of you in delicate imagery etched upon the walls of my soul. Swiftly, the dreams changed from scene to scene, with one merging into the other, until there was no beginning and no end, just one magnificent visual and sensual reflection of all that is you.
My feminine and soft moans filled the emptiness of the room as your masculine essence moved about me, then laid down beside me, reaching out to me, tracing my face with your fingertips, touching my lips with your gentle but passionate kisses, then embracing me as I have never before been held. My moans grew louder as your breath united with mine, creating only one breath between the two of us while our bodies entwined, one into the other, joining our warm flesh, blending our bodies into one being, complete and whole.
The golden saucer-shaped Sun peeked through my window, and touched my drowsy eyes with warm, early morning light, causing them to open to the harshness of unwelcome reality. While the image of you, of us, of our being one faded with the brightness of light, tears flowed down my cheeks to stain the pillow I still lovingly embraced within my arms, their salty wetness falling upon the still necessary, but incomplete imitation of you.
THE POWER OF YOUR LOVE, A LOVE LETTER © 2000 Wanda L. Harrell
I think you know not the power of your love for me. The mighty light your love gives forth is so brilliant that it traverses across the miles and shines directly into my heart, piercing my very soul, causing me to shriek in ecstasy while tears of delight leave stains upon these cheeks of mine.
I think you know not the power of your love for me. In your softest whisper you call my name and tender words of affection from afar, and yet, somehow I can hear your voice as it makes the impossible journey from your lips to my ears.
I think you know not the power of your love for me. When your body tires from daily struggles, and upon your pillow your head rests, your arms yearn to hold me within them, miraculously reaching across the distance, wrapping themselves around me with an embrace so real that I also feel the warmth of your gentle breathing upon my neck.
I am convinced you know not the power of your love for me
WHAT SHALL I WRITE? © 2003 Wanda L. Harrell
O, what shall this woman write? The blank piece of paper before awaits my words, but my thoughts swirl and my feelings twirl, mingling together so much so that I find it difficult to separate them into something understandable. It seems that my heart speaks one language and my mind speaks another, and the fingers that type these words do not fully understand either language. What I want to write seems simple, yet I find it difficult. I am a wordsmith, so how can this be? Is it that I want to do something that extraordinary? It seems simple enough. With my words, I want to paint a mental picture for you, one that communicates what my mind sees, and at the same time, adequately conveys the depth of emotion within me.
O, what shall this woman write? Try as I may, try as I might, I cannot find words expressive enough to convey these things. Should I write that my world was a dark night, and you have become the glittering stars? Should I explain how my spirit has had an unquenchable thirst until I found your love's sweet fountain, and my heart is now overflowing? What, oh what, shall this woman write? Should my words tell you that my soul was cold, and you ignited a fire, an orange and red and yellow blaze, that warms to the core of my being? Shall I admit you excite my most primal feminine desires? Or, shall I say that your precious presence in my world is appreciated more than mere words can convey?
Yes, that is what I shall write! Yes, that is what I want you know.
Darling, your precious presence in my world is appreciated more than mere words can convey.
TWILIGHT, A LOVE LETTER © 2003 Wanda L. Harrell
With your arms wrapped around my shoulders, and your embrace reassuring me of your love, the twilight's purple haze envelops both of us, giving silent solace to both our weary souls. The long and hectic day is past, and there is finally time for us. At twilight, there is time to look into your eyes, and see the image of my face reflected there. At twilight, there is time to lean my head upon your shoulder, and place my hand against your chest to feel the calming thumping of your heart. At twilight, there is time to whisper sweet and naughty words in your ear. At twilight, there is time to think about how much I love you, and time to do something about it. Twilight is the time designed for us.
WITHIN, A LOVE LETTER © 2005 Wanda L. Harrell
Oh, my love, I am completely convinced there aren’t words in the language splendid and beautiful enough to describe the passion I feel for you, but I shall, once again, attempt to convey the beauty and the intensity of what is within me with mere words.
My love for you is like a beautiful flower, but more radiant in color and sweeter in fragrance than any in the world. My love for you is like a tree, growing strong and tall, bravely stretching up to touch the blue of the heavens. My love for you is like the starlight in the sky, brilliant and dazzling against the velvet night. My love for you is like the unseen wind on a sweltering, hot day, as it soothes the sweating brow. My love for you is like water running down a mountain stream, rushing toward the valley while boasting a lush, white froth. My love for you is like the pink cotton candy at a county fair, so delicate and yet sweet to taste. Lastly, my love for you is covered in respect and admiration, just as the skin of a red apple covers and protects its treasure. Dearest, all of this love for you abides within my flesh, within my heart, within my very soul, and shall until I draw my last breath of life.
SOUL MATE, A LOVE LETTER © 2005 Wanda L. Harrell
My thoughts are always with you, but it seems they are especially so when I see dark shadows play in the radiance from that brilliant sphere that decorates the ebony velvet of the night sky. It is then my thoughts turn to the night I first saw your face, the very first time I looked into the depths of your eyes. In the light of the moon, you gave me not just a momentary gaze, but your eyes seemed to penetrate mine, seeking to see things deep within my very soul. There was a tenderness that I sensed, an awareness of affection that I had never before experienced. That miraculous sensation seemed to envelop me, wrapping my entire being with your loving warmth and understanding.
Although wonderful beyond explanation, I was mystified and a bit frightened by this unusual experience, so my thinking mind fought the unfamiliar encounter. My heart pounded while I tried to comprehend what was transpiring. Minutes became hours, and I finally began to relax, allowing your soul to embrace mine. The sensation was as if our souls were dancing, swaying softly to a tune only we could hear, a song to which your soul wrote the music and mine wrote the lyrics. Darling, it took me awhile to recognize and appreciate, but I finally came to understand that what I felt that moonlit night was that of my soul mate caressing my soul for the very first time.
Since that night long ago, our souls have swayed incessantly to that tune that only we know. And still yet, this miraculous experience mystifies me, but there is no longer any anxiety. Now, my mind and heart rejoice with my soul, for my soul finally knows what it feels like to have one soul know and love another.
I love you!