To the Written Word,
I did not love you the moment I met you. I found you dull and tedious, and I loathed every minute I was forced to spend with you. Despite my reservations, your seduction was swift, and before long I was completely enraptured by you. I marveled at your beauty and changeability. Your ability to be elated and exuberant in one moment, then morose and melancholy in the next, it took my breath away. You swept me off my feet and transported me to many an exotic destination and countless intimate settings.
For so long, you gave part of yourself to me, and I naturally developed a desire to make you fully mine. I had to get my hands on you like I had to breathe. And I breathed you in deeply. Oh, the beautiful agony of every scratch and slash, this way and that, returning to each other again and again, simultaneously united and at odds with each other. Each encounter resulted in such beauty.
How often you were there to caress and comfort, to allow me the release that could only be found with you. You and I become so deeply entwined that separation is impossible. The urge to be with you drives me from my bed and bids me to stay with you until I am satisfied. You are my love, my friend, my comfort, my guide, and I only hope the world may love you as I do.
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