Dear Ros-a-lind:
My Mrs Right, Snow White and Cinderella - do I have to spell it out?
I. L.O.V.E. Y.O.U. (reads a bit like an old telegram, no?)
However you try, you cannot rearrange these letters into any other form, or indeed alter both the expression and the sentiment.
I have a dictionary in front of me (the Shorter Oxford no less - all 2515 pages) and I quote: 'To entertain a great regard for; to hold dear; to be devoted or addicted to' ... is to LOVE.
I am your love-bird! (An uncommonly small member of the parrot family native to West Africa, remarkable for the affection it shows for its mate).
Rosalind, I hereby issue you a subpoena in the name of the lore of love! Answer me! (Please?).
I can't live with the (imagined?) thought of you making mad, hot love to your Gym teacher friend (I assume he needs steroids to get it up), and I won't accept second best. (Especially as in this instance first is the worst and second - if me - is the best). Rejection is one thing, but rejection in favour of a brainless fool is cruel.
I know (hope) you are a compassionate woman and have self-awareness enough to understand the effect someone of your immeasurably beauty can have on a man (even a man's man such as I). (When I say/write 'man's man' in this context I am not implying I am homosexual). The world of men (heterosexual) has been rife with pestilence, evil and misery since Pandora opened her wretched toy chest: don't add to the fun and games (this last bit is irony by the way!).
At present, I am sitting on my balcony soaking up a little sun, listening to the background hum of the city - I would be relaxed if I felt confident of your affections; instead I realise I am in danger of becoming a Doubting Thomas! (... maybe, maybe not).
Oh! If ever I needed self-validation (being published doesn't, alas, seem to have delivered it)!
Yours elegiacally (sp?),
Norman,
... soul-mining.
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