Wednesday, April 25, 2012

If I don't write anymore about what you mean to me, how I feel about you, it is only because words are such flimsy, inadequate things. They leave so much out, and trying to trace the outline of something like that with words cheapens it, renders it colorless and bland seeming.

I can see colors, pictures, of what I feel. There is raw sienna, a brilliant blue somewhere between phthalo and cobalt. A fish on a dry, wooden dock, gasping, longing for the water. Size, shape, weight, sensation. But Words seem so small. You know that I love you, i am not able to conceal it. Beyond that there isn't much more I can say.

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