There is a maddening poverty of devices to communicate the way your love has infused my being.

Raging tempests and seismic calamities may briefly rock the earth, but they gather and dissipate quickly.

You occupy every corner of my consciousness no matter what else I do. Passing time only invigorates your place in my soul.

Great works of art may move and provoke, but the best of them are inspired by human passion and capture the source of their greatness only imperfectly.

Even the sun is less bright than the way I burn for you.

I love you. The words are too poor, but what they mean can no more be stated than measured or weighed. You are part of me.