I don't know you. I'll give you that very easily. I DON'T know you. I only know things about you, the colour of your hair, the shape of your shoulders, the pools of brown eye, very seductive. I know your temperament. I know some of your expressions. I have a collection of words written by you. You share a few ideas. You use too many adjectives. But I don't know anything about who, exactly, you are, in fact.
Bill ShapiroMots clés knowing-someone
Reading all my old love letters was disorienting. You remember thinking the thoughts and writing the words but, man, you can't TOUCH those feelings. Its like they belonged to someone else. Someone you don't even know. I'm aware, in an intellectual way. That I felt all those things about him, but this emotions are far away now.
What's so strange to me is that I can't even force my heart back to that place where I felt that all consuming passion. That makes me feel distant from myself. Who WAS I then? Will I ever be able to get back to that place? Reading the letters again made me wonder: Which is the real me? The one who saw the world in that emotionally saturated way, or the me who sees it the way I do now?
Mots clés growing-up nostalgia reflection looking-back
I hate feeling so weak and vulnerable.
I hate that I miss him.
I hate that I am alone, and I always was.
I hate that I made him into a superhero, he was not.
I hate that he doesn't want to kiss me.
I hate that every time I cry over one boy it's like crying over all of them again.
Mots clés vulnerability heartache
This is torture, torture, torture.
Why is this so hard?? I survived whole days not talking to you before. What happened???
I'm not as nice in the world today. I am scowly. I am trying to be good and not fussy, but frankly, this is less fun. And I am getting grumpy about the prospect of many, many more days like this ahead.
Mots clés waiting torture upset
So, you wanna know what I want? I want it all. I want to be in love so much it hurts. The frissons. The pin pricks. The mind-blowing sex. The connection. And I want to be married with kids I adore and a husband who makes me feel safe, sexy, smart, secure, silly, serious, salacious, sinful, serene, satisfied. I want someone who makes me laugh until milk comes out of my nose (only I don’t drink milk). I want to finish someone’s sentences. I want to believe in someone, in something, in a future that’s not just about laundry and soccer practice and subdivisions and minivans and guilt-tripping grandparents. I want to make someone a better person. I want to be a good example. I want to love some kids into the world. I want someone who stimulates my brain as much as my body. I want to taste everything and go everywhere. I want to give and I want to get. I want too much and I want it all in one person.
Bill ShapiroRemember how I woke you up? If you could have seen me during the 15 minutes before your wake-up call, you would have seen a man watching a woman sleep. You would have seen the tenderness in his eyes. You would have seen a smile on his lips. And if you had looked super-super hard, you just might have seen the love growing in his heart.
Bill ShapiroIt was another blind date; this time her uncle had set her up. The plan: Meet outside of her fancy Midtown Manhattan office building. How would she recognize him? "I'll be the guy with the hole
in his boot," he told her. And there he was,
covered in dust from his construction job, with a
big hole in his fraying boot. What was supposed to be one drink turned into two . . . then a ride on the Ferris wheel in Toys R Us . . . then dinner. He wrote her this note exactly two months after their first date, delivering it rolled up and tied with a string, along with two red roses. They were married in July 2006.
(return
In writing anything to you, I always
end up frustrated with the results. One
reason for that is because I don't like my writing (or pretty much anything else
about myself for that matter), and the
other reason is a bit more complicated. I could sit here and write an entire novel about my love for you but it would
never be able to fully express how I feel. Describing my love for you is like trying to explain why snow is white. They are both unchangable facts of life that cannot be argued. I have a hard time remembering if there was ever a time I didn't love you. And you know what, maybe I always did loveI was always in search of someone like you. Someone that would always love me and not be afraid to tell me that she loved me. Someone who would touch me with soft tenderness that showed to me just how much she loved me. Someone that I could say anything to, and who I actually truly enjoyed talking to. Someone that would make a wonderful, nice, caring, loving mother. I love you __ and if you ever want to be reminded of that, just look in my eyes. They will always show my love for you . . . even when you pick at your fingers. you, even before we met.
Page 1 de 1.
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.