July 15, 1992, days before your trip to England, I listened carefully to your flow of words.
Your voice whispered anguish far greater than mere words could ever express.
There were tears in your eyes and perhaps a trace of sorrow that expressed your awareness of our brief separation.
At your request only did I leave suddenly. It was so special; I had to honor it.
Sometimes love has no rhyme or reason.
Who was I to question the wisdom of your decision?
Later that night, I lay my head where you normally placed yours.
The memories of you never ceased; your touch was ever so near as I had hoped.
The fragrance of your L’air de Temp – the purest trace of your presence continued
to fill my senses.
Sometimes love has only purpose of heart.
What is your purpose, my love? What is your desire?
What dreams or passions do you hold in your heart?
Keep it not to yourself.
As we both know, dreams are often thoughts and images of unfulfilled desires.
Keep your dream alive.
Please share it with me, lest I fail to see the essence of your longing;
But if you must, keep your dream close to your heart, lest I impose upon so personal a memory.
Keep it special.
Yet, I dare invade every sacred or secluded chamber of your heart, because I long to be near you. If I could selfishly maneuver my way to be near you, I would share the closeness of that space, Having in my grasp only the shadow of your presence.
I will wait, lest I breach the enchantment of your passion and lose you forever.
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