- William Butler Yeats
I write to you standing on sugar-spun glass with a noose around my pitiful neck. I fear for my life, for this beast within me threatens to burst forth and destroy everything, my world; you, for they are one in the same. Therefore, despite the danger, I must release it and let you know the truth, for it consumes me.
I love you.
I need you the way the river yearns for the sea. I want you more than anything I have ever coveted in my short span of a life. I know you love me as well, but I cannot possible match my desire. I would die without you.
Our love is delicate, mortal, and pure.
You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known, in an obvious, gorgeous way, but your internal beauty is something I feel honored to be the only one to truly see. To me, it is like something that others may overlook, but i see as accidentally stunning; like the bittersweet shimmer of a tear-stained cheek or the surreptitious glory of a gasoline rainbow.
I love you.
My only regret, my clandestine lover, is that we must remain a secret. I wish to be with you always, but the pity I speak of is that time, the wretch, is wasted with every moment I cannot be with you. Of course, I can be by you with others, but I cannot truly be with you. I wish to hold your hand and let all know that you are mine, and mine alone, but I cannot, and this kills me.
You own me completely. You are the one person to have ever opened me entirely. You shall have my heart forever, no matter if you keep it tightly wound around your fist or let it fade away into the fine dust that lines the edges of ancient books.
I love you, my muse, my weakness, my downfall.