''What cannot letters inspire? They have souls, they can speack; they have in them all that force which express the transports of the heart...'' - Heloise
Love is a frightening thing; it entail laying your heart on a cutting board, handing someone a knife, yet trusting that they won't
use it. Giving my love to you means giving you the power to hurt me more than anyone can or has ever had the ability to. It is then expected- no, required- that if you accept this love of mine, you understand these things.
You must summon the courage to assume the responsability of the precious gift you now hold. But somehow it seems incorrect to call my love a gift- you have earned every loving though, every kind word, every carring gesture.
Georgiana Apostol
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