Di,


I am Overwhelmed with Grief;


I do not remember Ever asking to be This connected to Another soul:


I Cannot Think;

I Cannot Eat;

I Cannot Sleep;


I Cannot Even write to you today;


-Ar.

Dear Diary,

How do you explain to a book of paper what it is like to kiss the man you love? To be connected to him at the place from which our words flow out from us? To be So moved to expression that there are No words to express the meaning of what you're feeling and to have both of you So perfectly moved in towards one another reaching for that expression, which it turns out, Only your kiss can give?

I cannot explain it to you sufficiently, Diary. And i believe for that matter, i could never explain it Quite rightly to anyone else either; kisses have become objects of lust rather than expressions of love; how do you explain to someone that your soul is connected to this man and that your kiss is the Crowning expression of that connection? You do not ever wish to pull away from it, and yet at some point you must (-Earth demands it of us, I suppose), and in that very moment that you begin to, his soul reaches out and yearns for that togetherness to stay by bringing you back in for more.


I cannot really access it quite deeply enough to explain the way it resonates with me, Diary; digging into it only makes me miss him more.

God grant me strength;

Ar

Diary,

My head and my heart are so meddled together lately that I am not even sure of how to write to you in a manner which even expresses somewhat closely the Reality of everything I think and feel.

-I am not sure I really like the word "meddled". -It portrays what I am feeling, but perhaps if the word did not exist at all then I would not have to deal with Feeling it?


There is so much Power in our Words, Diary! Is the power inherent in itself? Or is the Power Present when it communicates in Sincerity the Feelings of our Hearts and Minds which we could otherwise not portray?


There is Power also in silence. And I am not sure which of them is more Powerful- the Power of the Truth when Only Silence Can Explain It, or the Power of the Truth when you find Just the words you need in order to communicate it.


There is Power in the Silence between me and Don, Diary. A Power which I cannot explain except in saying that I Know beyond all doubt that he Loves me, and I know he knows I feel the same. But there is so much Power also in the words we use when we communicate it! I would leave Truth cloaked in Silence, Diary, if that were the Most Effective Communication of it, but Sometimes the Power of the Silence moves me into words which my Soul Cannot keep back.


I tell him that I love him and I feel as though the earth's stood still and my Soul has Shook within me with So much Power it could rend the earth away. -And perhaps in some small way, it does. The distance between my heart and Heaven becomes no more, and instead Heaven exists within his heart being coalesced with mine.

Dear Diary,

I wish that I could explain to you the Joy that exists within my heart anytime I allow myself the time to Really think about him and how much Love I feel for him. I feel as though my body has been left behind and my Spirit has been Lifted up and Exalted and Exists within some Higher, More Substantive Realm. All the Air Around me is transformed and I struggle in the time it takes to come back down to this world to resolve the difference that there is within it.

My earthly joys are explanatory; I can tell of excitement, of adrenaline, of "love", of laughter, and so on. But this Kind of Joy, Diary, cannot be Explained if One has never Known it for themselves. -I am Enveloped about inside of some kind of density that is So warm, and comforting, and surrounding, and exalting; and it sets my heart Aflame in such a Gentle way that it is impossible for me to explain.

It is tremendously and inexplicably tender, Diary, as though the wick of the core of my heart had been lit weeks ago, and now has warmed so Gently and so Consistently the muscle of the rest of my heart into an amoeba of warmth which Can no longer be Contained within me and instead Overflows out from inside me and Solidifies Completely the Entire Atmosphere of All the Air Around Me as well.

And when I feel like that, Diary, I do not want to be Anywhere else but There with That Feeling All Around me. I do not want to feel the Emptiness of the Air otherwise. Here, I must breathe within it; Here, I find myself Struggling For Air. In that Higher Realm, Diary, my Heart and Spirit and my Entire Soul, Really, is so At Peace and So In Congruence With the Atmosphere around me, that Breathing is not required as it is here. There is no exchanging of one element for another, because All Elements are Purified and Combined Into One.

It is, in my opinion, the Highest State there is of "Being". There is no incongruency to struggle with reconciling at all. The Struggle, Dear Diary, is in Realizing Even More Completely the Difference and the Dissonance of Elements that are in need of Purification here in order to Achieve Such Oneness for our own.

I will go without Don, Diary, for however long I must, but Heaven exists Only when his heart is mended into mine, and No Earthly Joy, and I trust no Other Heavenly Joy either, could cover up the hell it is without him. My heart is missing, Diary, and Only God can Restore it unto me. ...How then could I Ever forsake Him? Every earthly thing will fail you, Di, but God is my Hope, my Courage, and my Strength. And even in the times when All I've Loved has been taken from me, God has Never Failed to Grant me the Peace I Need to Carry Through.

I have come to find, Diary, that the Deepest Truths are often found within the Simplest of Expressions; No extravagance is needed when you communicate the Truth, because it somehow has an ability all in Itself to prick the soul and shake one to the very core.

That is how it is for me with Don, Diary. I love him so Completely. And the evidence of that Love we share is found within the Impact and the Resonance of even the simplest of things within our souls. The touch of his hand, the sensitivity of even just the simplest, yet sweetest pucker of his lips, the sound of his voice- as though a song is being sung within the natural tones and fluctuation of pitch of his voice that is Only his to sing; the Knowing, Loving gaze and admiration of his eyes...

I have said it before, Diary, but Somehow in writing to you like this I cannot keep from saying it again. There is a thickness and a density of matter that surrounds you when Love is there, and I believe when it is Truth which underlies that Love, such a thickness and density not only surrounds you, but becomes a part of You as well.

-I feel as though my soul is something as solid and anchored as the string of an archer's bow, and yet as delicate and able to resonate the music of the Love we share throughout me as an open violin string, but with the depth and impact of the sound of the cello. He simply says to me that He Loves Me, nothing more, and it is as though I have been Shaken so much at the core with a Truth so Basic and so Pure that it Exists Completely on its own and is Independent of Anything else that either one of us could Ever say or do to attempt to dispell it.

And so it is, Diary, that we are left either with Acknowledging, Accepting and Embracing it for what it is, or else Denying, Defying, and Fighting Against the Reality of it Altogether. The Truth of it is Always There, Diary; Underlying Everything we do; and Once Discovered for What it is, it is as though it can never be undiscovered again.

There is so much pain, Diary, in Resisting it. And so much Love in Embracing it. And Ever Since the Moment I first discovered that Our Love for one another was in accordance with Truth, Diary, I have either been flowing so Perfectly within the Current of the Acceptance of His Love, or else I have been Doing All I can to attempt to Rage Against the Rapids of Accepting it as True.

The Grace God Gave Her to Fall back on when All was lost
OR
The Grace God Gave her to catch her when she fell

Ar,

I do not say it often, though I know that you can feel it; But today, somehow, I feel as though my heart is overflowing and I cannot Keep from you its sentiments without feeling as though I deserve them Already less than I have Always known I have.

I love you deeply, dearly, passionately, and particularly Ari, and the snowflake-like while yet igniting, fiery, distillment your Spirit and your Heart has had upon my own has been Unparalleled by Any other.

I feel as though in reaching out so tenderly to place your hand upon my chest, you have somehow penetrated through the skin and blood and bone and shaped my heart within the tender touch and hold of your hand.

You are So faithful and So strong, Ari, and God has blessed me so distinctly and so personally just by bringing you into my life.

I think often of the Power that there is within your kiss, and of the Honour and the Respect and the Compassion that has been Present within my lips every time they have even so much as come in contact with your skin.

And Ar, I just want to thank you; It has never been the same with Anyone since.

-Don.

Dear Diary,

I feel perhaps I write too often of Donovan and not nearly often enough of others around me. Such that you may get the view that what i feel for Donovan is something other than the Genuine Love it Really is. Such that you may think I am carried away in fantasy, or in wanting Love so badly that I create fantasy of it in order to satisfy my desire for it. I wish to be absolutely clear that what I feel for Donovan is the Truest and Realest and Most Sincere Thing I trust one could Ever get.


I could yield my time away writing of the connection that is missing for me with others, I could tell you of every man that I have known who has been short of what is there with Donny, in hopes that you may better understand, but what would the use of it be? Either you believe me now, or else you most probably Never will. I do not feel it is my role to defend myself to you; I have said before that I am bare before you, and I do not feel inclined at all to Explain myself to you beyond that.

I think sometimes, Diary, that maybe Even You will someday betray me, and I feel sometimes, Diary, like my Own heart is the Only Safety which I can ever hope to harbor for Eternity. I wish more than Ever for you to Stay with me Through it All, and I pray to God you can, but with at last having Donovan gone and taken from me, I feel I am beginning to doubt Even the things of which I have been Surest and Would Never Before deny.

-What am I becoming, Diary? I do not Even know Myself anymore; I do not have the Faith God thinks I have. I do not have the Strength. I need Something to be Sure of. Something that will Never Fade Away. I need Truth, Diary!, I need Love!, I need Hope and Healing and Tenderness to come in and take over All this hurt and heartache and harm; I need God to Hold my Heart Within His Hands.

I am not sure of you, Diary, I am not sure of Don. I am not even sure if I am sure of God anymore.

And I am not sure of how to end this eloquently either.

Dear Diary,

I see things so much more clearly with him by my side. My vision and Understanding becomes so much sharper and the gaps in my sight are so Perfectly made up for by the keener perceptions that exist within those very same areas of his.

The Bible refers to doing Everything we can for God with "an eye single to God's glory" and that is the closest thing that I can think of to even come close to describing how I feel when I am with Donovan; -Not only in things Spiritual, but in Everything. I feel as though I've never known before that two eyes wasn't enough to see One Picture clearly.

You take his two sweet, milk-chocolate brown eyes and combine them together with the deep and clarifying blue that exists within my own and the four of them together morph into One, giving us each this Complete view of things Unlike Anything that you have Ever seen before. I feel like I have gained the wisdom of the owl and his 360 degree vision as well as a depth of vision which cuts through the Atmosphere of this Fallen World and peeks through into the Celestial.

I do not Ever want to be without his eyes again, Diary. I would be Blind again without them. …Donovan is my Vision, Diary. I cannot see without him. And I would take Any Comfort God Could Give Me That would Match the Comfort that there is within his eyes when he is here with me to get me through the Hindrance that exists within my heart when he's away.

Diary,

 

I refuse to overuse the word love. I feel so much like if I were to use it as casually and precariously as does nearly Everyone around me it would dash All significance out of it when I Really mean it. There are other words, you know, that describe the difference in feelings that there is when something less than Love is there, but Love, I feel, is the Only word which Reaches into the Caverns of my Heart and Really communicates in Some sincerity the Gentleness that is there when Love within its Fullness really exists.

 

Don and I have, in younger years, had playful communications with each other about which of us loved the other more. I now dare not even so much as think, let alone assert in any way at all, that there is Any difference in the amount of love between us that is measurable at all. If I love, Diary, and if I am loved back, that is, in its Simplicity, the Grandest Extravagance of which I can conjecture. It is dwarfed into something less than that Great Love when it is not accepted as it is and wont to be measured out and divided into parts instead.

 

-I do not Ever, *even once*, love him more or less than he does me, Diary, nor does he Ever return more nor Ever return less of the Love I have for him, even in the times when One of us is in All Reality unable to give back to the other Quite as much. Love for us, Diary, is a never-ending, continuous, and Ever-flowing Fount of Give and Take: we keep no record of wrongs; no measurements of mistakes. We simply Love, and in that lies Every Goodness and Exalting Glory of which we have Ever felt flowing out from one another.

 

Dear Diary,
      
 I do not think I really meant what I said within that post the other day. I think what I meant was that my heart was hurt and that Only he could heal me. I think what I meant is not that I wish he'd never touched my heart at all, but Rather that he touched it So Deeply that Now no matter Where I am or What I do, He will Always be a Part of me. I think what I meant is that it hurts to have him missing. But I did not really mean that I wish he never was.
      
I would be so broken without him, Diary. And I think that what I really mean, is that Even if he is the Only one who can Shelter me from all this Pain, I'd still not trade the Ounces of healing that he's Given me to Keep me from the Pounds of Pain that are there when he is missing.
     
I think, Diary, that maybe what I Really meant was that I Loved him, -and that Really, I still do.

The day she Finally let Go.

Diary,

I do not Ever want Another man to look at me as though I belong to him again. I belong to Only Donovan, and Ever Will. I suppose that such a saying makes me sound stubborn; well, if stubborn be the word of choice to others from their outside view of it, then so be it. I would be so stubborn Everyday of my life if it could Somehow bring him back to me.

I have found for myself, however, that it cannot. If stubborn is the word of choice for how I am behaving then others do not Understand. Stubborn implies a willful choice of conscious mind which dictates such behavior. I would say, if anything, I am more like Stuck.

I do not wish to be; in fact, I wish More than Ever to be Freed of him Forever, to be released from this hold he has upon my heart and to be able to Live in Ignorance of the Joys he's brought to me as well.

I cannot handle all this pain, Diary. I simply Cannot do it without him here with me to Comfort me and Understand me. He is the Only One who Understands my Joys the same way I do, and he is the Only one who can Shelter me so Perfectly from the Pains that correspond with them as well.

And, Diary, if he cannot be here to Protect me from the Pain of Losing him, then I wish I never Even had had him here to hold me through Anything Else at All.

My lips feel so tender just in thinking about his kiss, Diary. My eyes close and my hands become Heavy with some kind of Spiritual Density which Somehow doesn't know the difference between my thoughts and the Reality of the event actually taking place; they begin thinking for themselves and they Want to be wrapped around his body, my chest Pressing Ever so Gently yet Firmly up Against his, forming into and tracing themselves Along his sides and back, and then up around and into his shoulders, and then Even More Lovingly if that is Possible, along the sides of his neck, and sealing It All up around the square frame of his cheeks and chin, All the while Surrendering Completely to the Passion that exists within the Power of his Lips and Taste and Touch.

I mentioned Prior the Weight that is Present when Love is there, and All I can really tell you, Diary, is that Each time the Memory of him Strikes me the way it just has, my hands are heavy and my lips are tender, and When they Realize he is no longer here, they feel So missing and So much more like they could Never Kiss, nor Touch, nor Love another quite So much.

It feels as though they have detached from me Completely and Remain detached from me and Floating out in the air in front of me, Always just barely close enough that it Appears that They are Still within my Reach to Reclaim when I want them, and Yet Time and Time Again I find that the Reality of it is that they Are and Ever Will Remain Always Just Far Enough Off and Just Aeirified Enough that They Could Never Be Reclaimed As My Own Again without that Weight and that Consistency that Only Don can Give Them.

Diary,

 

I wish I could explain to you the Power that there is when His lips touch mine. My heart Stops just thinking about it. Everything else that is around me vaporizes down into nothingness while the Material of his Kindness and Respect and Compassion For me Overtakes it and Completely Consumes the Now Empty space around us with a Solidarity that is Unparalleled by Anything Else that I have Ever felt.

 

...My whole body buckles beneath me with what's vaporized, but Somehow my Spirit Yet Remains Standing There Upheld by That Purer, Surer Matter.

 

The Only Way I can even Begin conceptualizing it is by saying that it is as though Someone has come up behind me and as Gently as one would flick a Speck of Dandelion Fluff into the air around them, has done so at the backside of my knees and in doing so has in a similar way to blowing the fluff off of a dandelion stem, Erased Them out of My Flesh Completely and released the Spiritual Matter of Them into All the Air that is Around me. As Soon as they are flicked away from behind and no longer Left to hold me together, my Entire Body Falls Along with them onto the Floor into a haphazard heap of robustious listlessness, while the Spiritual Essence of my knees somehow becomes more Solid and Gentle and able to hold me Together than Ever before.

 

I Cannot Even Tell You, Diary, the Meaning that is in it. It is So much More than just a kiss, and I will Never Understand Again how Anyone Could Ever Kiss someone and find Any Joy in it at all without having such Density of Matter and Sincerity as This within it. I Cannot bring myself to doing it, Diary, and I Cannot understand how others Can Speak so casually of Such experiences either. It is a Moment which belongs to me and Donovan Only; Nobody else could Ever Understand it Quite the Same way We do, and I refuse to have It taken from us, Diary, for Anything Less Than What It Is.

A collection of notes, never delivered; written perhaps for her own Piece of mind more than Anything:

 

Donovan,

 

Wish I could sleep. Wish you were here.

 

Ari

 

~

 

 

Donovan,

 

You are my rock.

 

 

 

...Don't know what else to say.

 

 

 

Missing you More Now than ever,

 

Me

 

~

 

 

Donny,

 

Missing You. In Every sense of the word.

 

Ever Yours,

 

Ari

 

~

Donovan,

Diary,

I do not even know what to write to you today. I miss him so much more than I could ever explain to Even you. And sometimes it feels like the Only way I'd ever stand a chance at having it be understood completely, is by having him standing right here by my side, his hands gently shaped into my shoulders as though the weight of them is more a part of me than I am, and his empathetic heart and eyes Reaching out and delving deeply into mine.

I guess that is why I so naturally begin writing things out to him instead of you. I feel sometimes like even a blank page with his name at the top of it captures better Everything I feel than the paragraphs that it would take to explain it All to you. And with other people? It is nearly always futile from the start; no matter how much I mean to say exactly what I'm feeling I somehow Still yet remain unable to hit the core of it and end up talking all around it instead. -Ah, and now in typing that I want him here with me again. I am not one who has ever needed much of anything, Diary, and yet Somehow I find the Deepest truth and the most Peaceful feeling Only in allowing myself to acknowledge that it is him that I need More than Anything.

...God grant me the strength I need to endure;

Ari

I wish you could see the way he looks at me sometimes, Diary! ...Or maybe I mean more like I wish you could Feel the way he looks at me sometimes! It is so soft and tender and it makes me feel like Anything in this world could come at me and Still I'd be the most Valued and Respected person in it. It is so elevating and yet at the same time so leveling; so uplifting and motivating and exalting, and at the same time so down-to-earth and Real and Truthful and Sincere. He anchors me in some way which is impossible for me to explain. I feel so much like I am floating away without him.

 

And his gaze, Diary.. Oh, his gaze! Everytime he looks at me I feel it cutting through me and penetrating into the very fabric of my soul. It is so admiring and still so expectant. And it is so humbling and comforting to me.

 

And Diary, I have said it before and I will say it again, I could never do Anything to be worthy of such an Elevating gaze; -But then, he would tell you the same thing about the way I look at him.

Diary,

 

What does one mean when they say they have found "The One" anyway? Or that they are seeking out "The One" or so on? I am so sick of all of this talk of Miracle Men that surrounds me! Is there no middle ground? Has the world around me idealized to the point that even if they found "that one" whom they are seeking for they wouldn't even Know it if they had?

 

What is it that Lasts, anyway, Diary? For myself I have found the Only Thing that Lasts Through Life is Love. But what exactly is Love, anyway? I have thought that I have been fortunate enough to Feel of It a few times in my life, but Everytime I have Thought it as the Real Thing I have been Left Only to Myself when I have tried to build upon It and be Sure of it.

 

Do you know what it is like, Diary? To have the very Essence of Everything that matters in this Life torn away from you as though it Never even belonged to you in the first place? It is hell itself if I have ever known it; It is incongruence with Eternity.

 

-And who else would understand it if I were to explain it to them but you, Dear Diary? My heart is bare before you, and it is bare before Donovan just the same. But aside from you and him, there is a loneliness which is so personal and so impossible to explain to others that I am forced either to find peace within the incongruency or else to feel no matter where I am as though Everything that is of Matter to me is not understood with the same significance by Anybody else who is around me.

 

I dare not speak of it at all, but rather suffer myself to keep in Silence such matters of deep importance, when in Reality I desire nothing more than just to feel a Comfort enough with another human being to be able to pour it all out into them and have them share with me in even the smallest portion Some understanding of this kind of Deep and Lasting, Steady and Assured Joy it is I feel even just in thinking of him.

 

Sometimes, I think that I just want my memory of him to vanish completely and leave me the ability to Go On as though I've never felt Something as Deep and Real as what I felt when I was with him. But then I think again, and when I do I realize that I do not really want for that to happen at all. I want to carry him with me Always, Diary. (And not just because he is somebody, but because he is Donovan -I cannot put it any other way but that). -I have never said anything Truer in my life than I have when I have told him that I love him.

 

But Truth in this Day and Age, Diary, seems only to be valued to others if it is a commodity of convenience. The moment it requires Courage to stand by it and preserve it, the Truth is aimlessly abandoned and a Ghastly doppelganger is set up in its place.

The Weight of Love

I have never seen eyes purer than his, Diary! I just want to Rest in them forever. There is no language to describe it. Not even a photograph of them in their most strengthening (-and somehow simultaneously weakening) moments could sufficiently capture the Comfort that is there in them when he is actually there with me looking back at me and into mine, allowing me to venture into his, even if only for a Time.

 

There is so much power in our eyes, Diary! Windows to the soul, they say; but I say more they are more like Gateways. My flesh is stripped away when I am looking at him, and Only Love remains. -And the strangest thing of all, Diary? It is Then that Every touch becomes an Ecstasy. My flesh is stripped away and enveloped with Spirit, and somehow at the very same time it is Exalted and More Present, Real, and Capable of Feeling than it Ever was Before.

 

There is a thickness and a substance of matter that exists when Love is there, Diary, and Once you have felt the weight of it and carried it with you for a time, Everything else that you experience feels <span>so</span> inordinately light without it.

The day she Knew

(She'd never be the same without him)

 

Before him there was the light of hope that one such as him existed.

After him there is the comfort of Confidence and Assurance of the realization of that specific hope's reality.

But with him? With him, Diary, the before and after mesh into one eternal Now- a Now in which even the most turbulent of times is triumphed over with the steady assurance of solidarity that Only he can bring me.

 

-Without him completely? Before the before? Or to think (heaven forbid it!) of an After in which he would cease to exist and would not carry through with me? Both are inconceivable to me. He has Always been a part of me, Diary; to live without the Now of which I speak that exists when I am with him is not at all preferable, but is somehow still bearable so long as the Before and After yet remain with me.

 

We both have a journey, Diary, which God in His Perfect Love must allow us to forge through seperated from one another for a temporary time. This is the only way for us to learn certain Truths which we could never have been able to learn if we were Ever yet together.

 

It is a Mercy, Diary, that God allowed us to forget. To have him remain with me Only as a hope inside my heart is preferable to attempting to bear a full knowledge of Once being with him and now having to be without him. I can hardly bare it these past few months, let alone my whole life prior.

 

-What is it that we learn through brokenness, Diary? -I realize that I need him- my soul is not a Soul without him. It is as though we were fashioned out of the same Spirit- split into two and only now kept apart by this denser, darker matter which we call Earth. If All the earth were purified and Lifted Up I trust, Diary, we could no longer remain apart- the Elements would demand otherwise- we would at the very moment of That Purification be immediately and instantaneously drawn back Into One another.

 

This earth is the Only thing which could Keep us apart, Diary. Ah, my heart can hardly bear it. I yearn for us to Yet be One again. And I trust that that same God which Fashioned him and I from that same piece of Spirit can hear the cries of my collapsing heart, and can feel as I have felt, Diary, the symbiotic yearning of Don's Spirit to be at One with mine. Earth and hell may combine against us, Diary, but I no longer hope, but rather Know that One Day, Love will conquer All.

Time ticks On.

Dear Diary,

 

Time passes by so slowly without him here with me. It is as though every passing moment is another eternity that keeps me forever within this heaviness and grief. I mentioned once that I'd prefer to be able to freeze time, but what I failed to mention is that that is only if I would be able to freeze the good moments and make them last forever. In the current state I'm in freezing time would be the very last thing I would want to do.

 

My Only Grace seems to be that all around me I know that time IS still passing, and it reminds me even on the days where I experience a sudden dissonance of detachment from everything else that contrary to everything I feel otherwise, I am, in fact, still alive, and that my heart is in fact still beating.

 

If the world cannot be the same for me ever again, Diary, if my sense of time and place and distance insists on remaining so wretchedly and utterly distorted, at least I can find comfort in the one constant, consistent, and unwarpable thing this life affords me. No matter the wave of feelings, or the happenings of circumstances, no matter how stuck in one moment my heart or spirit or even my entire being seems to be, I can always look to the steady clicking of the clock, or the swaying of the tree branches even in the slightest wind, or the aging of small children and find comfort in the fact that time ticks on without me. My world may be warped, but the world around me is still moving, and some days that is the Only thing that gets me through.