If You're Not The Libertarian... Turn Away Now!

This is a sort of odd open letter to The Libertarian. I'm not too sure why. Maybe it was the fact that he spent at least 3 hours today trying to help me do my work.

Hello you. I quite like the thought of you coming across this and your eyes widening with surprise. Knowing you, you'll probably start laughing and then be overcome with appreciation. I can hear you now, sighing delightedly. I know it's not as good as a REAL letter - there's no illustrations! - but I'll do you another one of those at some point. Promise.

Out of respect to you, I have kept any major details about you off my blog, and will continue to do so. I'd just like to stop briefly, wipe the sweat of exertion from my brow and bemoan the fact that, well, it's hard, y'know. My cold, logical mind is obsessively delighted by the fact that it's such a goddarn healthy relationship - I mean, you call when you say you will, I am able to have my perpetual foot-in-mouth syndrome - and somehow, as you would say, we 'muddle through.'

As for my sentimental side? Hooo boy. This is a lot more interesting/convoluted. It tends to be a toss-up of fear and abject astonishment. I'm just a girl, and you're just a boy, but here we are making the sort of love that you read about in books. Not long after we became a couple proper, the awful consciousness that you were someone I absolutely had to hold on to began to burn a hole in my guts. I felt crazy, because although you were tremendously important to me, you were by no means the centre of the universe. I had objectives beyond you and I still do, reduced though I am to the level of such sycophantic acts as this - writing a 'public' love letter (Good Lord, what next? Am I going to turn emo and etch out 'heartfelt' expressions of sentiment in 'guyliner'?).

I don't want to spend every waking moment with you, nor do you with I. I might not even spend every night with you. Don't expect me to become 'conventional' at any point (I don't have the social awareness to perform such a feat :-D), even if I have your sprogs. Which I really rather would like to do, as you know (Bloody Hell, KJB! What's happened to you? You've gone 'straight' etc. etc... ;-D).

As I struggle through trying to look after my sister and not fail my final year of university, the help you give me is so very appreciated. Words can scarcely convey my gratitude as you prevent me (repeatedly) from unravelling like a double-snipped ball of yarn. So, I guess I'm making this officially official. Though I suppose I had already. Take my freedom, take my time - take my life, in short. If I had more money, I would give it to you, though you haven't asked and never would. Hence I will give you the things that really matter to me, because...

I love you. Those three poor little words, how they strain under the weight of near-inexpressible meaning! I have always wanted to love, but you have shown yourself to be worthy of love. I am damaged, it's true, but I will offer you all that my poor, bruised little cardiac clock can muster. Don't be fooled - like a luxury car, it's much roomier inside :-D. Would that your face were receptive, like Braille, to the secrets of my entreating fingers, but it seems that by and large, your eyes comprehend what mine transmit (Green eyes! Ringed with hazel! Fnnnnn *melts*).

I tried to fight it. Sometimes I still do. However, there's no denying it - this love is the stuff from which fictions are spun. It is like inspiration, heady and refreshing. It has its moments, but as Forster said, there is something 'stable and quiet' at the bottom. Head and body independent, but you are possessed of that other one that also happens to matter.

So... yay for us. Thank you again. For existing and also for being wonderful. I know there'll be no comments, but as I said... in a year and a bit's time, you may have to watch your back, matey ;-D. Just to reiterate... I love you. You rock my world *projectile vomiting*

Any fule who happened to read this in fascinated horror is now free to go, and my sincerest apologies. Love... you know how it is (or do you? *raises eyebrow*).