In my breast pocket

[Socks]

I found a little letter I had left. Partially. Folded carefully and tucked neatly within the folds of a black shirt. It holds true content and was meant for someone I scarcely knew. A girl. A beautiful girl whom I saw and was drawn to. She was more beautiful then a daisy covered with the fresh morning dew. She was more beautiful than a sunset over the ocean while walking on the beach. When I held the gaze she had inside, I knew then that she was true. She was German and slim and blonde and elegant and stately too. A lady with a kind grace, an air of beauty and divine purity. We met each other at the Munich airport. Boarded the same flight to New York too. And then departed our separate ways, never to be seen or heard from or ever to find somewhere else at some other time. No. It was not meant to be. Woe is me. My sad little heart, who falls entirely for every lovely girl that looks at me. Such was here the case. And a flight I spent in agony at the fact, that I loved her and she did not love me back. Who sat in her seat and did not care for where I was or who, while I wrote her a letter and formed dreams.

When I set to slip her the note with my intent by what I meant. This is what I penned.

Dear Beauty,

It is I, your admirer.  

I do not know if you can read this and understand, or whether you will even care for it. I write. I write because I must. I have to. There is no explaining it. There is only love. And you are so very lovely. The start in the night sky, who, for him that gazes upon it, offers wonder and holds possibility with a thrill of mystery and majesty. You are such a star, and I stare yearning at your light. Hopeful of her insight. Curious of her nature and radiant elements. How else, but with the cosmos and the world, can I profess the purity, the sense of awe I felt when I saw you and when I think of you? It sounds crazy, I know, and maybe it is. But I am not insane. And this is an act of profound inspiration. For while there are many motives that drive me to the edge of reason, there are only a few desires which compel me to leave that edge and plunge straight into the unknown and unseen abyss, with my whole heart and entire soul. Thank you for having this effect on me. It has been my honor and my great privilege to have had the chance of meeting you.

I hope you feel the same way.
Though I understand, of course.

In any case, know that you are a flower, so don't forget to bloom, your leaves and petals too, to flash your colors when the sun comes and spring shines down on you.

Please contact me if you wish to talk.
All the best, regards, yours truly, Marjus.

Why do I fancy these sort of notions and these sort of deeds? Have you written letters and died to speak, to some stranger on the street, whom your saw and would give up home for? Tell me. Tell me what you think, what you feel and what you know. Tell me, who to love and love and love, forevermore.

[YPrrrr]

Is that where girls put their money when they go out to bars

[the shortest route to the sea]

My letters are gazes. My letters are hellos and how are yous, my letters are farewells and take cares. My letters to strangers are each moment I push through the curtain between us, and within me, and stroll chin-up into the glow of possibility. My love of life, my hope for the future, and my respect for myself finds home in intention, and I channel that into a stranger and pray that they will decide to do the same. And whether this is a passionate tryst, a brief conversation in French, a couple of bumps and grinds in dim light, I uproot my home-heart and set it again in the arms of some beauty.

[YPrrrr]

You guys make a good case for nihilism