To my lovely James

Dear Jim,
It amazes me that, even after dating you for all these months, I've never really shown you any of my writing, and never even had the inkling to do so. For me, the most effective and genuine way of expressing myself has always been through writing, and it only seems fair that I open my mind parallel to my heart. It has always seemed obnoxious, falsely poetic, and a waste of language to be poetic to simply imply poeticism, romantic to imitate emotion, and, especially, to be prolific solely for profundity's sake. For these reasons, I promise a genuine display of my emotion and otherwise thoughts for what they are and as they are for no greater purpose, and will use no device but my own heart and conscience as their editor. Please, my love, understand then that poetics here are liquid sentiment, romantic remarks purely the conjurations of my heart, and prolifics, if they exist, a product of these two in a purely coincidental manner.
Ah, my James! If I could only give my world away to omnipotent powers and live eternally within your gaze. Alas, Earth and my mortality bound me to this body, and my existence in it. Yet, with each moment we spend breathing life into one another, your body becomes mine, and we remain inseparable. Your toes, your fingers, and your hair- they are all my toes, fingers, and hair just the same and know them no differently than my own. Living entwined with you, residing warmly in the spacious caverns of your heart, however, I finally can recognize the vast differences between your body and mine. An honest light permeates through your skin that shows honest love, generosity, and selflessness. This radiant glow forms a halo around your face as a luminescent aura of all things good and worthy. And suddenly, I step back and, in a stupefied gaze experience a half million-déjà vu's. How could I not recognize you, my life, my soul, for you do not realize how many countless times you have visited my dreams and desires. Some persons never live to see the manifestation of their dreams. Yet lo and behold, there in a glowing soft smile and the pleading look of simple brown eyes is all I've ever dreamed, desired, yearned for, worked for, and needed. The simplicity of your beauty speaks profoundly to my heart, and I nearly cry out for yearning to live, entwined within its divine sinews for an eternity, and then another, and then another
Yet, my beautiful angel, your beauty that pours flawlessly to liquid light cannot compare to that warmth, ah that gentle touch, which comes only from your heart. A soothing balm to my chapped conscience, the soul who long embraces mine, the humble god who pays homage to the feeble worshipper, the justifier of my injustices and yellow sun to my storm- your being is all this to me and infinities more. When your life breathed so perfectly into me finds my soul, my perspective undergoes a loving catharsis. The more of your enduring love I am fed, the hungrier I become. The greatest gift of all, however, would simply be to return this love, yet, in my humbled state, please forgive me, I cannot. Your love cannot match human perception of love, and though I try to impart my heart to you, it's futile. Please, dear James, understand me that when I speak the words of my engagement to your soul, that I should mean them no less after this realization. Simply, how can a single "I love you" do justice to a connection imperceptible to the human heart? It is, rather, the simple understanding of your heart and the willingness of mine that joins in the adequacy of "I love you" as an exchange for that which cannot be said, fathomed, or understood. All that I am belongs to you.

I love you,
Samantha