Tue, 09/21/2004 — Sak
To my Dearest Daisy,
Feverishly scribbling down the the thoughts that manifest themselves in the inner-recesses of my mind, I find them trite, for I am a trite man. O, Shakespeare, your incomparable paradox; "Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all," yet -- we all judge. I have been judged by the very faculties of my love -- Daisy! O, Daisy! The very winter of my soul transcends into spring at the mere mention of your name! Your ability to inspire apes to kidnap you is known from the farthest stretches of land, yet -- my affections are misplaced, for you do not even recognize my face.
Pascal, o, damn'd Pascal! I do have much to lose, and the thought of your wager makes my very quintessence burn with a vivacious passion of rancor! Daisy, o, damn'd Daisy! The times you would entertain my brother in the parlour of our very abode, you would not even bid me adieu. My spirit was that of a boy then, and I am a man now. No longer will I be a trite man!
Daisy, the indeterminate has cleary kindled its fire in the passion of love! Daisy, o, Daisy! My heart burns -- extinguish it, for you are the only one who can.
With a fervent love,