A Public Letter to a Private Person

Holly Lynne Burgess, my dear, my sweet,

Normally, it's not my style to do things like this. My whole approach involves spending time befriending a girl, getting to know her over a period of time, always variable, before even considering a relationship. But then, I don't "date" per se. Not the casual, hey you're hot, let's go grab a meal and be romantic then find out we've got nothing in common and hate each other. It's the way I've always done things. I don't need or want casual attentions and affections, nor do I care to give casual affection or attention. And the non-casual approach still holds true. While you coming into my life has certainly added a certain amount of whim and impulse to my thinking, my intentions are...serious is a bad word, here, makes it seem too stiff...genuine/thoughtful/honest/earnest/pensive. Sometimes it just doesn't translate into English very well. Deep. My intentions are deep. Not shallow.

But here's the difference. I haven't known you for very long. At the same time, though, I feel like I've known you for a much longer time than I have. And every little new bit of you I discover, I like. It's as if there's a checklist of all the things I could want or need or like in a girl. And I learn something about you, and boom, another box is checked off. Only I never made a checklist. I kept my "type" pretty open to change and difference. Seemed logical. Increases the odds if you're not stuck on any one particular type. But regardless, there you are. Ever since that first time you touched me, I knew there was something there I liked, something...compatible, resonant with myself.

I have a sense for these things. A certain "spark" that is unique to but a few people I've met in my lifetime. It's not the same type of spark, but just that the said spark is in you. Kinda like being Force Sensitive and knowing that, yes, "the Force is strong in this one." But my senses are a topic for another day.

I sense some deep hurt inside you. I can't tell for sure, but while you claim that you were called the manipulative one, the bad one, I have a feeling the words were of spite, anger, and bitterness, not truth. I sense that you were the one that was betrayed, that was hurt more. I've seen the wall. You've lowered the bridge, and while you've been cleaning the gears, the portcullis, the gate is still closed. But lucky for this cleric of Cuthbert, I am errant. A Wanderer Knight. I've got nowhere else I need to be. I can sit here at the gate as long as you need me to. I can fend off attackers while I'm here, if it comes to it. It's what I was designed for: the rescue of damsels. And also the sharing of burdens. I am built both physicall and mentally for the carrying of weight. I'm big tough guy, heap big. Carry things well.

But also, as you well know, I have a gentle healing touch. I used to be a Paladin once. I know the "laying of hands" trick. Still managed to carry some of the abilites over to my clerichood.

I've got hurt in my past too, it happens to us nice guys. Just something I got used to, I suppose. But you don't have to worry about me comparing you with the ones of the past, especially not Fat Alice. All the comparisons were made that night. Over and done with. Swiftly two. One very swift sidelong glance at the two profiles, and hers was tossed away. I hardly knew you, and I could already tell you blew her away, even comparing your worst with her best. But I know how that hurt can take time to recover from. I know how it can make trust hard. So I can wait. But I also know that hurt heals better with the help of someone else. Trust grows back faster with aid. I hope that you can feel the trustworthiness in my hands, the safety of my eyes, the comfort of my embrace. Those first steps out of that crumbling, neglected tower are scary. The daylight's kinda painful. I know. But I'm here. I'll be holding your hand the whole way. I've even got a pair of sunglasses handy until your eyes get used to it. Whenever you're ready, my hand is extended to you.

But I warn you. I will be persistent and goofy. I shall be stubborn and unwavering in my adoration of you. And with all the consternation and obstinance of the most unruly mule will I be kind and gentle and patient with you. I will be loyal. I will be caring. I will be romantic to such levels that you will be able to make a fortune in canned vegetables for all the corn. But in every glance, in every caress, in every kiss, there will be the same tenderness and care.

I won't brandish about the "L word," not for a while. But I think I just might be that way. I am quit taken. Smitten even. I like you a lot. There's not a part of you I don't like. Even your passive nature, even your reluctance are dear little flaws to me. You could be perfect, but then you wouldn't be human. You aren't perfect, but each of these little imperfections only endear you to me even more. The little scars there on your chin, for example. They are but a part of your face, and it is that face that I find so beautiful. Tall, slender, smooth. So very smooth. Smooth kisses like velvet cream and silk. A long soft tummy, that fits the caress of my fingers so very pleasingly. And litanies of the glorification of legs and cheeks and hair. Tomes of passion for ears and eyes and lips. It is for you and all these things that are you that I am willing to wait. Admiration and yearning and longing all tempered by patience of superhuman and epic scale.

Halcyon and on and on.
Justin