I want to write a letter to someone, actually get out a pen and some nice stationary and just spill some sweet words. I miss getting love notes in the mail. I have a friend that told me that he never received even one love note in the mail and I thought to myself that that was the saddest thing I'd ever heard. Unfortunately, it will become all too common now that everything is digital. If I had his address, I'd write him one and mail it off today...*smile* That would be just the thing, I think. All of my old received love letters are still bundled up, they travel house to house with me and I don't think that I shall ever part with them, though the love that inspired them is long dead. I used to pull them out, once a year, and read every little line. It was always funny that no matter how much time passed, those notes were always just like yesterday.
I'm in a very hopeless romantic mood. I blame Lukas, he was the one that picked the movie. Figures that he'd fall asleep before it was even done.
So nothing to do now but to write down my favorite love poem of all time, and a new one that my new friend sent me. Both make me feel quite....serene. :)
Guadalupe de Saavedra
If you hear that a thousand people love you remember...saavedra is among them
If you hear that a hundred people love you remember...saavedra is either in the first or very last row.
If you hear that seven people love you remember...saavedra is among them like a Wednesday in the middle of the week
If you hear that two people love you remember...one of them is saavedra
If you hear that only one person loves you remember he is saavedra
And when you see no one else around you, and you find out that no one loves you anymore, then you will know for certain that...saavedra is dead.
and the new one
My life is a crystal teardrop. There are snowflakes falling in the teardrop and little figures trudging in slow motion. If I were to look into the teardrop for the next million years, I might never figure out who the people are and what they are doing.
Sometimes I get lonesome for a storm. A full-blown storm where everything changes. The sky goes through four days in an hour, the trees wail, little animals skitter in the mud and everything gets dark and goes completely wild.
But it's really God - playing music in his favorite cathedral in heaven - shattering stained glass - playing a gigantic organ - thundering on the keys - perfect harmony - perfect joy.
Lord Buckley - the beautiful moon-man comedian - said to a cocktail audience, "M'lords and M'ladies ... Beloveds ... Would it embarrass you very much if I were to tell you ... that I love you?" And they all laughed. How could anyone believe it?
A friend told me it would be risky to write about Jesus. I'll risk it. I wonder if Jesus knows what's happening on earth these days. Don't bother coming around, Jesus.
Jesus, gold and silver - standing in a room full of modern men. What nerve,
Jesus, gold and silver - you have no boots on, and you have no helmet or gun - no briefcase.
Powerful Jesus, gold and silver with young thousand-year-old eyes. You look around and you know you must have failed somewhere. Because here we are, waiting on the eve of destruction with all the odds against any of us living to see the sun rise one day soon.
You dear Reader - You are Amazing Grace - You are a Precious Jewel
Only you and I can help the sun rise each coming morning. If we don't, it may drench itself out in sorrow.
You - special, miraculous, unrepeatable, fragile, fearful, tender, lost, sparkling ruby-emerald jewel, rainbow splendor person. It's up to you.
Would it embarrass you very much if I were to tell you ... that I love you?