Dearest Puck, how I dream of thee when I close my eyes. None so perfect,
ever, as thee, my sweet. (comma abuse!) Thou art so much more human (in
the way it was first meant) than any other I have yet known, and still,
thou art more than even this. What dreams I have dreamed, what promises
made! --- and I find that I have not been searching for a variant multitude
of events, I have only searched for thee. I see the world, now, so much
brighter and cleaner; I view its happenings with an objective interest
I had not known before...! I find that I care more for certain humans,
but only in the most abstract way -- like picking a favourite rat in an
experiment or a favourite worker in an ant farm. Sometimes when the vision
faileth me, I am filled with the desire to tear out my eyes, for I fear
disillusionment were I to look upon thee from such a condition; yet somehow,
I am never disillusioned by you. There is next to nothing you could do
to make me want to love you less. There is nothing you could do to make
me love you less. I should not want to try.
thou art my most blessed beautiful beast.
--c0demuse
Monday, 11.16.98
6:11 pm