My dearest love, Cupid:
How I long to have you return to my side and smile your cherubic smile upon me. It has been too long that I have languished over love's dream unfulfilled. My prim and proper family suspect that there is a change in my spirit; they say that the brightening of my eyes and the upturn of the corners of my mouth are becoming all too frequent. They are perplexed that my former solemn, taciturn ways have blossomed most prodigiously into a riot of springtime colour and cheer. The protracted winter of my discontent has vaporized and can afflict no more.
Accordingly, my family's puritanical mores are so deeply and long entrenched that one's breaking free from such tyrannical bondage of body and soul seems a revolutionary act. Well, I say fie on the whole lot of them! You, sweet and delectable Eros, are no villain, no embodiment of mere carnal pleasure. You are a releaser, a liberator, a sweet saviour of this despairing maid whose shriveled spirit you have revivified by your glance, your touch, your kiss ...
I know you are true, that I am your only one. Please hasten into my presence and cherish my society as none other. The French window shall, as ever, remain open as upon wings of desire you alight once more upon my chamber floor.
An Eros by any other name is still a Rose ...
Your Spectre of the Rose
Ever dear and splendid Narcissus,
I once gazed with love upon your reflected image and yearn for that day when ne'er again shall we part company. When last you left my side, I was seized with an extraordinary compulsion to run after you and beg you stay and console me. I am not accustomed to such aloneness that has been enjoined upon me.
Since that forced separation, that damnable schism, I have reeled with uncertainty and self-doubt as to who truly I am. I fear that, deep down, I am little more than a shallow, empty nothing. Where shall I find a deepness of soul, a true and abiding reason for my existence if not with you, for you? There would appear no possibility of success were I to continue on in this fashion of incompleteness.
It was you, not I, who demanded liberation from the confines of our conjoined spirit and soul. Why, pray, the blind necessity of searching out foreign waters to cast your eyes, my eyes, on an image too well and oft observed? Have you not considered restraint? A diversion centering on others? Perhaps a little less self-absorption?
I long for your return, knitted back in place where you belong, to terminate once and for always this useless dichotomy of body, soul, spirit. Granted, I acceded to your pleas for personal liberty, but can you truly say that you are the happier lad for seeking your reflection without my sage eye upon you?
Please reflect, not so much upon the physical aspect of youth's beauty, but that which runs deep and true. Eternal youth and ageless outward beauty are but a myth ... a paperwhite, though lovely, is but a passing springtime fancy.
It cannot be forced beyond....
Hermes has promised swift delivery of this missive to you, my better half ...
Love eternally,
Narcissus
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