• (Description isn't long enough!): This is dated August 3rd, 2007. Almost a year after I met my love, Ayesha. During this time in my life, I had a bit of a difficulty accepting the fact that other guys do indeed socialize with Ayesha. It's not that I didn't believe it, it's just that I prefer not for it to be possible.

    A year from now (or almost). I've grown past that horrid stage. Beyond that fear of losing the only precious thing I could reach. And so, confident that our mutual emotions intertwine a sort of exclusivity for another, I present you a dive in my mind and a spoon of my heart.

    I can't stand it. I'm literally doing nothing as I sit here dawdling my thumbs 'till you come back into view.

    The more I ponder back on today, the more irritated I get at the loss of time over shenanigans that I've conjured up with insecurity. I cannot help but see the difficulties we overcome as fragments of a reflection deep of my own troubles. Not with those sprouted ruthlessly from my mother and my childhood, but my core beliefs that are sub-consciously and constantly filtering innocent moments with another to be warning labels and subtle signs of what I fear the greatest, the most.

    It's a bit... oxymora. The worries we have, tend to infest into the reality we fear or become the future we desperately hope never comes. The more I worry about him and the possibilities, the more I push you away. My words may ring a good note of truthfulness, but my actions and worrying speak a different sonata, no?

    Oh, how much brilliancy do I have to ignore the proof that validates what I needlessly need to deduce. That you truly are mine and mine only. My assertion in my mind keeps distorting into an image I worry constantly: You with someone else. Someone who has more security and believes that he truly is up to par, who merits you in every majestic and bewildering aspect that simply makes me light-headed with wonder at how I could be so fortunate, so... lucky. Your words and faithfulness is benign. Your intelligence and third-eye of wisdom is full of promise. Your future is gleaming with prosperity and success. Your hand swerves with a wonderful talent like a slow foxtrot to a melodious tune. Your outer beauty has no flaws or shortcomings. It stuns me with gloom eyes in comparison to me and my physical appearence. Desire to feel your silky coiled hair, yearning that your hands endow mine with their warm touch. Pining away the time 'till I hear from you again.

    That evidence of your words projecting such sincerity and art of how you feel for me. The snapshots of pleasurable places on your body and moments I conjecture with a fetish and perverted tongue. The sacrifices and adaption you willingly incline yourself to provide for me, the mere fact of money spent calling me from afar for your own supposed essentials of hearing my voice. My voice that whispers love and adoration for you, but does not speak aloud his troubled and silly mind.

    Now, here I am. Lingering in the evening, sauntering each meaningless action that pertains an absence of you. How do I convince myself to trust you, my goddess. A female deity to everyone. Someone that perfection attempts to define by itself, but only radiates it more by it's incompetence to accomplish the task that's beyond the bounds of possibility. How do I convince myself to trust people. To trust that all actions have no second-motive, a less innocent and favorable justification. That the two faces I see are allied with me and do not seek malicious intent in the sober shadows of spite and wickedness.

    Sigh, this uneasiness and difficulty to cope is only appeased by your constant words of integrity and logic. When the clock chimes that horrid and repugnant hour of sleep, I weep wondering what diversion could possible be in a remotely near comparison to you. My singing dove and sugar pastry.

    I have no scheme or plan of what to do here. I want to try and adorn you with my love, feeble and unsatisfying it may be. But the pesters of many male variables interacting with you makes my addicted veins pump furiously and my heart grips a little tighter to the abyss of what could possibly ruin this felicity, this bliss my worrying and atrocious accusations are currently crushing with an impending and unremorseful outcome.

    Illuminate me with something inspiring and endearing from your heart. Something of the sort. I simply wish to talk to you once more. Once more, I try to suppress, dissolve these frivolous mental hardships. You reassured me once by saying you'll watch out for him, I hope that still rings true.

    Je t'aime, pour toujours, pour l'eternite...