it begins.

3.8.01

I am sitting here at my desk, thinking about you sitting there at your desk.

This morning was a good thing, you. I carry you in my heart. I don't understand all of the reasons, perhaps that is a lesson which i need to learn right now. Not always having a reason why. But if i had to think of a reason beyond what is palpable and obvious between us, i would say that i want to be the safe place in which you can share your true self.

 the universe provided an opportunity for us to meet. I don't know what it means, either. Not why, or how or anything except that you touch something in me physically and other ways, as deeply. I feel so many things. you make me smile with my whole self.

fond affections

jocelyn

11.17.01

the things i would give you...

bazima

11.19.01

I love you my sweet little angels..your Mommy's heart, life and breath!
Kisses,

Moma*

11.19.01

I once was a man that was injured so deeply by love he became afraid to let anyone ever get that close again. Then came the loneliness and the pain of isolation. So pain seems to follow what ever path i took.
       Then the sun walked through the door and brought warmth to all the pain. From somewhere my fear of being close became a need to be closer. When love walks in the door it somehow manages to just take over and all the things you swore you would never do again, you find yourself doing them all. Getting flowers, lighting candles, starring at the stars. Now if I could just tell her....

Ralf

11.19.01

the other evening (morning, really) i set the alarm for 5am so that i 

might get up and go outside and watch as the earth dove through the tail of a 

comet. the light was spectacular. and even though the clouds 

obliterated your view of this show a 1000 miles away from me, i was connected to you. 

sometimes i feel our love is THAT BIG.

i never get tired of telling you how much i love you and how grateful i 

am that you are in my life. you, with the incredible capacity for turning pain 

into growth, never seem to tire of giving. and you magically allow me 

the opportunity to unfold the person that i am (that i didn't even know i 

am) without ever seeming to compromise who you are. how do you do that?

my respect for you does not waiver with time. my desire for you grows 

with every touch. my longing for you is cavernous. 

the words, i know, are somewhere inside me. i do not have the skill set to 

tell you how i see our love in the afternoon ray of sun that beams 

through my window on a saturday afternoon.  but, there it is - plain as day. as i 

run my hand through it, i feel the warmth 1000 miles away.

i love you,

the man

(no link on this entry - this submission is from my one true thing)

11.20.01

A LOVE LETTER TO THE LOST: AUTUMN IN NEW YORK
by Paulette M. Glassman (USA)
[email protected]

The silent screams of 6,000 people suffocating in a single, senseless moment of murderous madness echo in the void of an empty skyline and we who've survived travel a path from tears to terror, orphans in the city of our birth.
New York is awash in tears. We comfort each other and create new rituals to give order to our emptied lives: we wave flags, light candles, sing, pray, come together for vigil, after vigil, after vigil. And still the pain comes.  It is almost too much to bear. The one thing that everyone wants is what no one can have: our lives back. The  way they were, the weeks ago that were another lifetime.
 We New Yorkers are built to be strong, and we will survive. But we, and our city, will never be the same.
The world has lost a magical place.

11.23.01

Ginger - It's the way you walk into the room; thhe way you can capture my entire attention. It's the way that I question EVERYTHING, everything except you. Your always there when I need to kvetch, and how you kinda half smile when your tired. It's the way your lips get real thin when you trying to hide the fact that your laughing. It's the little things that you do, or don't do. The way you love others more than yourself, the way put up photographs of a girl halfway across the world, and write her letters. It's the things you don't see inside yourself. Your love of art, the way modern art strikes a chord in you, and the way that you get stuck in my mind. These things, these are the things that tell me, that I love you, and I will wait for you to find out just what real love is, for you to find out just who I am. Every circle has a center, and you can't know your boundrys without finding your center. Until you find your center, until you find out who you are, and what Love is, Know that I will always be right beside you, with you, there for you. And when you find out exactly what love is, I pray that you will find me there holding up the sign that says "This is love". - Kevin
=====
May the Penguin be with you!
(o_     Kevin Poorman
//\        [email protected]
V_/_  AOLIM: Netalix, Shyslpwlkr or TheUnchosen1

11.27.01

E,

I wake and watch you sleeping on clean white sheets. Your hair flutters softly as I breathe.

I see your smile as you look at me from the other end of the canoe. You laugh and cheer as I catch my first fish.

You shake your head as I buy a toy. You laugh and tell me you hope I never grow up.

You bring me carnations from the grocery store. Your face lights up as I move close to give you a hug.

We’re walking through the mall. You stop me, run your hand over my freshly cut hair and tell me how beautiful I am.

You hold my face in one hand and softly brush away the tears. You hold me close and protect me from my monsters.

I move closer and kiss your sleeping lips. You stir and wake and smile.

Always yours,

Deborah

11.30.01

michele

i might not have everything you need. but i promise i will give you more love than anyone has ever given to you. i will be the one who stays forever, i promise.

justin

11.30.01

rotten by the vanity of the rags she's wearing - suffocating each word she writes - the bazima chronicles scribe failed to fulfil her noble role of a messanger, which i intended for her with good faith, thinking in her inconsciousness that these words were submitted to her for judging.

either she assumed the words were addressed to her, in which case she deserves to burn on a rug of spines: the righteous death of the vanitous, or she thought those words were written in bytes and not in lymph, in which case she deserves to be whipped to numbness: the righteous punishment of the ignorant.

but her attempt to murder the faithful pigeon who carries my message to a ducess in a far dukate will remain useless for i am here now to shout the words in ether:

"I cannot stop thinking, beloved ducess – strange faith of the traveller, curse of the kings – how for the wealth of my hamlet with the sword in the hand and poison in the hard i went into exil, on dry lands among pagans, and how for the glory of my people and for the good name of this ducate that i presented you with and still it is too less - ghost of my nights, devouror of my dreams - for the whole world i will present you with, the moment i will conquer it under your stindard i cannot stop thinking, i was saying, at how fortunate my faith is because even if worlds are between us for just a wisper of yours i will step over them all with my bare foot and for every smile you´ll give me i will conquer one more empire, to put it at your feet.

My days won´t finish, even if the sky is moving and the night keeps coming, and i am living in them all until i will have you again in front of me and with your lips you shall finish them which started while those which will come, you shall begin.

And if your wings will refuse to grow i will stick them to your spine with the nectar from which only gods are drinking and your legs i will brake myself apart and i will feed the crows in the skies with them for angel wings you deserve not human deadly legs.

And you shall fly to me for i am wounded in so many battles and i am tired under my armor and you shall heal my wounds and rest my eyes in which – blinded by wars and burned by the sun – the sting of your thought still cruelly hurts.

For if the pagan sword did not smashed me and if the unjust bullet did not put me to the ground, it was for i was meant to bow one more time in front of your grandor

And if i will leave these foreign lands it will be just for other fights in other exils but in the very depths of the crucade i will see you coming and lightening my desperation i will see you feeding me with the resting of the sweet tiredness, curse of my faith, queen of my happiness, ducess.