Time for some loving: Classic love letter rewritten
My gorgeous man wrote me a love letter - or a new take on a love letter. Not only was it incredibly romantic, but an exceptional piece of writing:
October 11, 2012
In one of the most famous love letters, Immortal Beloved 1812, Ludwig Van Beethoven opens with a series of questions:
"My angel, my all, my own self - only a few words today, and that too with pencil (with yours) - only till tomorrow is my lodging definitely fixed. What abominable waste of time in such things - why this deep grief, where necessity speaks?
Can our love persist otherwise than through sacrifices, than by not demanding everything? Canst thou change it, that thou are not entirely mine, I not entirely thine?"
Of course, the letter continues and finishes with a flourish - not unlike his musical masterpieces.
However, I was still pondering the beginning because sometimes love can seem like a series of questions: sometimes answered, sometimes not.
If that's the case, why do we structure our love letters so differently from what we experience? Wouldn't our love letters be better if they simply resembled love itself?
And thus the questions began and continued in my attempt at a love letter:
Where do I start with my love letter?
Do I open with a formal title? Something forthright and business-like or am I better going for something warm, familiar and inviting? A cheeky nickname that only we share? Or the standard fare of Dears, Darlings, Lovers, Moons and Suns?
How personal should it be?
Should I tell all of the measure in which I find you beautiful? Am I allowed to mention the features that keep my gaze? Scribble about your soulful eyes? Describe the redness of your full and inviting lips? Scrawl about the sharp angles of your nose? Gush over the goose-flesh bumps that silk down the inside of your neck to your shoulders?
Do I write of the themes that guide our relationship through the shadows and into light? How our journey continues to surprise and delight? Of the secret moments and looks that only you and I can know? That you are my everything and there are no words to sum up exactly what I feel?
How much thought should I invest over how much spontaneity of heart?
Should I unpick the very reason for the feeling that causes my heart to swell and contract so rapidly? Is it better to know that it does this for matters of passion rather than the coronary mundane? Is it better to talk of feeling a certain way over the scientific instruments of physiological and psychological need?
Am I free to write words that hurt as well as stitch and bond us together?
Should I dance around the subjects that cause pain, headaches and heartaches? Simply cover sugar-sprinkled turf? Could I jot down the things that jolt? That matter? That let us know that what we have is completely real over fleeting fantasy?
Should I open myself up for ridicule?
If I spill my guts will you like the mess that is inside me? Is it dangerous to admit I can't breathe, live or think without you? What if I am not believed? What if you don't care for what I write or for me? Where will these words go if committed to paper or screen? Is it better to love in shades of cool? Simpler, to hide behind playing the fool?
How do I end?
Should it even have a conclusion? Is finality an admission of inevitability? How can we say goodbye so quickly when there is yet still more to write? Do I sign this letter of admissions, ponderous thoughts and omissions? Will this testament stand up in court? Under your scrutiny as judge, jury and executioner?
Is there one single thing about us that cannot be questioned?
Yes, and so I finish with a flourish of my own.
I love you x
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