Letters From Home


By The Wandering Englishman

Ask me what I live for, and the answer will always be the same.


It's always been you.

I need you as much as I need the air I breathe. You are heaven on earth; my fallen angel.

You walk like you're god: higher than us mere mortals, who you send trembling with just a mere look.

So much emotion in a simple glare, your green eyes piercing into their very soul, even if you're staring through them.

You are my blood. My life. You flow through my veins like wild fire, burning me from the inside in a way I never thought possible.

Truly you are the embodiment of perfection. An adonis to be worshipped in every hour.

If only it were possible. But, we mere mortals can only stand too much.

The first touch kills me. Deep inside the walls I built up shattered, leaving me naked and vunerable.

It here I feel at peace. Hot and cold at the same time.

Then I'm at your feet.

Your moans my commands that I'll eagerly follow.

Your essence fills my being, and I am blessed by your softness: The yin to the yang the world outside here see's.

The sound of your breathing can calm even the most savage of beasts, and nature fights to stay awake. The stars shine through the black that overcomes us both.

As the sunlight cracks through the window, your halo can be seen: glowing gold from somewhere deep within.

You smell of cinnamon and peaches of a morning. Breathing in your scent fills me with the energy to get through another day.

With my arm around you, your eyes glitter, and the warmth builds.

Your smile brings life to the world, the birds singing at it's sight.

I would sing if it made you happy.

All I know is that I'm comfortable here. I don't have to lead here. I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not because I'm here in your arms.

I never want to let go.

And as Hyne as my witness, I never will.

Return to Archive