On slow Sunday nights such as these, the heart longs for someone to share intimate words with, someone with a soft touch and kind voice, with eyes of quiet understanding, and lips of the softest lavender, that are parted by the most passionate poetry. This welcome guest may go by many names, but is known best by one; woman. The kind that creeps in and steals your heart the moment she asks for your name. The kind of woman knight of old went to war for, and killed for, and died for. The one who, on nights like these, would also be found in her room, perhaps wrestling with thoughts and emotions similar to my own. Or perhaps she thinks of nothing, she justs sits peacefully atop her bed, in all her simple beauty, legs crossed "indian-style", scratching the ear of a whimpering young pup, as it kicks and squirms in its sleep, undoubtedly inflicting terror upon creatures smaller than itself in some nameless, sun-drenched field.
Some would call this woman a girl, for she adorns her soft hair with flowers, and greatly enjoys mischief, but few realize how much more she is than that. More than any one person could fully understand. And so she only gives small pieces of herself to those around her, but it is more than enough to get them drunk, and to make them long for just a little bit more, just one more fix. Yes, she is most certainly a drug, her company makes one feel dizzy, her gaze gives one the shakes, her smile makes you weak, and her laugh will send you soaring higher than you ever thought possible. But, alas, once this beautiful deity exits, she will leave a substantial hole in her counterpart's world. Yes, she is lovely, but she is also quite dangerous, for the day will undoubtedly come when that laugh, and that smile, and that soul-probing gaze will no longer be reserved for you. Just like the beautiful sunset, her warmth and light is fleeting, running unabatedly into cold darkness. Where you shall remain as her light travels on, to the Eastern coasts to light up the world of someone new. But, dear friend, this occurrence is nothing new, tragedies such as these have been taking place for as long as there have been poor saps to write about them.
This woman is not easily replaces, and certainly not easily forgotten. It takes a lifetime of searching to find another of the same caliber as this one, and even still, all this replacement stands to do is serve as a reminder of the one you loved and lost all that time ago. So take heed, would-be suiters of the world, for the frailty, the name is woman.
My first love letter.
