My love, what I know of my self is this, that I am very much aware of my awareness that I
love you. When I look into myself, believing that I have a good knowledge of myself, I see that all my faculties have a deep interest in you. My eyes delight at your beauty, my ears are unruffled when it hears your voice, my mouth is eager to kiss you, my nose keen to smell you, my hands craving to touch you and my mind is full of you.
All of this sensation I am well aware of; and like a magnet I am drawn to you, for everything about you fascinates me. When you are away I miss you. When you are near I want to hold you.
In my mind, if you will allow it, I have already decided to be committed to you forever. Only death will lose my passion for you. And if in death we should possess any sort of consciousness, then I know this, namely that I will be very conscious of you.
My desire for you is unfathomable. Throughout various times in the day you have a desire for a cup of tea. To have such a desire is a conscious thing, for that desire is very present in you and you are very much aware of it. That is why at certain times, you ask me to make you a cup of tea. As well as you are aware that you have such a desire for a cup of tea, I am well aware beyond all reasonable doubt that I have a profound desire for you. Not the kind that is full of lust, but the kind that is full of a whole variety of all the goodness of love; such as romance, charity, kindness and goodness.
I must admit that the deepness of this desire was not made aware to me until recent activities. We are after all mortal creatures, prone to forget, prone to miss what is right in front of our eyes and what is deep inside of our hearts.
Some ascertain that in regards to our own feelings and desires that we are omniscient in them. But I disagree. We are omniscient in certain things, namely those things in which we are aware of. And we are in the blind of those things to which we are not currently made aware of but nevertheless could be buried deep in our tomb of forgetfulness until memory resurrect it, or certain event outside of us resuscitate it.
It was your event, namely the event of losing you, brought about by you which resurrected, or
even more so brought to the light, that is the light of my consciousness the deepness of my love for you. And now that I know this and very much aware of it, I cannot deny it, nor doubt its veracity. It is not just merely chemicals in my brain, but something much more transcendent. Something not so complex, more