By just L
Date: 26 June 1998

Pray tell what is in your heart?

Dear Blender Master: I think there should be a category for letters and other ramblings that is not necessarily prose, but is, nevertheless, the fodder of love. Here is a recent letter to my love of one year. While others I pen are more erotic or flowery, this is the stuff life is made of —questions, uncertainties, aching desires:

I will, out of love for you, graciously bow out of the party invitation this weekend to save you from grief.* Know this action does not discount that my heart feels great sorrow. This act will, however, spare our forthcoming tête-à-tête from cloudiness.

Though I give you my body, heart and abiding commitment in passionate, soulful love, I continue to cry myself to sleep with haunting uncertainty. You, my flame, hold the key to truth. You must be able to tell me what is in your heart, and commit to make that happen— joyfully with, or regrettably without, me.

As I wrote to you most recently, you need to be able to love me for who I am, not for whom you hope me to be. You insist on making my “past” wrong. Since I do not share your conviction, your belief only makes me wrong. If I am wrong for you— you must be able to accept responsibility for your beliefs and resolve to act in your best interest. Please do not confuse my love for you with your power to extort behavior from me you find acceptable. To expect this, is not only severely harmful to me, it is dishonest.

I need to know what is in your heart. You do know. Pray tell. You may have fears, but the truth is either you love me enough to commit to me wholly— willingly and ardently— or you cannot. I can no longer lie in your bed feeling as if I am half the love you desire. I want all of you to be mine. So much so, I ache.

I need to know this day. You must make the time to talk to me a priority! I can no longer give everything of my self to you and feel that you are withholding. I can no longer have my love held for ransom. It is too painful.

I love you with all of my being. You “surround and bathe me in this electric light, illuminating and enkindling my whole nature— filling my soul with glory” (Poe to Whitman). You have my consuming desire unequaled by another. Alas, my covenant to you is sufficing or it is not. You hold the key to my ecstasy or unforgettable suffering.

*the grief of having to face an ex-lover or acknowledge there has ever been an exlover, let alone more than XX. . . .

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