Love Letters

To, whoever is bored and need something to read,

This is me. A random person you can read about online. I need to pour my heart on something. I'm not good at sports, not good at the arts, not even good at writing, but its the one option given to me right now.

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As I walk along the cliff just outside my childhood home, I see the open space is filled with the gentle ocean spray. The smell of the sea permeated the air. The warmth of the sun caressed my skin. Under the weeping willow was an old park bench, stained with the ageless wisdom of those who came before me. I sat watching the surf crashing into the cliff's below. I listened as the clandestine chorus of the seagulls confer with each other
as they fished for their evening meal. My eyes are wide open, yet my heart is closed. I feel my mind taking me to another place in another time. I am falling into my own mind. A helpless traveler waiting for the unknown destination. I inhale the salty air and I am instantly rejuvenated. I am awaiting the awakening of my soul.

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Paris, December 1795

I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart! Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried?... My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for you lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! it was last night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives!

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October 1987, Arizona

Hello Helena,

Hello from the far off land of Arizona. I should have written you earlier, but I kept waiting for something interesting to happen so I could dazzle you with reports of my exciting life in the South - West. But nothing interesting has happened, and I have gotten so lonely that I have to write to you now if only to know that someone back home still knows I'm alive. I hope you will write back. I'm desperate to have someone to talk to as easily as I talked to you.

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Friday 8 p.m.

If only I were a clever woman, I could describe to you my gorgeous bird, how you unite in yourself the beauties of form, plumage, and song!

I would tell you that you are the greatest marvel of all ages, and I should only be speaking the simple truth. But to put all this into suitable words, my superb one, I should require a voice far more harmonious than that which is bestowed upon my species - for I am the humble owl that you mocked at only lately, therefore, it cannot be.

I will not tell you to what degree you are dazzling and to the birds of sweet song who, as you know, are none the less beautiful and appreciative.

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