My dearest love,

How is this possible? How could the cosmos and the heavens open to create a being of such sublime and perfect imperfection? As if the magical realm of the universe we ever so briefly inhabit could coalesce into a collection such as you, what would be the purpose? My dear, what manner of being are you? Neither heaven nor hell nor the nether and void between, nor the entire universe, from inception to death, can contain enough energy to support your deep and forever soul. Your mind so perfectly encompasses the thoughts and ideas and values of humanity as a whole that it is hard to tell where your divinity ends and the sinful human begins. When one is around your beauty, they are blinded, not just by your transcendent image, but by your glistening emotions, the defining piece of you. Your immutable person fits those things that are considered angelic. And in the swirling mass of emotions and ideas that is you lies one last piece of light. A light that shines through all the world and all its people. Beauty, it is called. Not just physical, but mental and emotional, and all kinds of colors and dangerous safety. So well can you contribute to the feelings of others that it seems almost a natural purpose. The stars and moon and sky cannot contain you, my love. You are freedom and life and purpose. You are the castle to the fearful lord and the army to the rebellious nation. You are comfort, you are protection, you are love.