To E.F.

Dear E. F.,

This feeling is still in adolescence, and it might be birthed in my own, but I keep it close as I would my own child and it grows larger and stronger each time I see you - every smile, laugh, shared feeling and thought aggrandizes it to the point that I have to draft this out because I'm not sure I could relate its full message in person. Your heart, mind, goals, priorities...everything. I love you, I think, or whatever this feeling is called before it ripens.
I know this site is filled half-full with my own letters to other people, but this is not impulsive like all those were. This has had time to grow stronger, a taste that, cooking through with these constant flames (like those of Purgatory, perhaps - strong but harming only impurity) has come to season too slowly for my own patience.
I'm not afraid to say it; that's not why I write this. If I was ashamed of it, I wouldn't lay it out here where all eyes can see. I don't fear ridicule, because I know any applied to me would be unwarranted. Right now the only thing I surely fear is the answer I receive from that voice I've known for years, but whose worth only recently have come to appreciate fully.
That said, I ask if you don't feel the same stirrings when you think of me that you don't (as I know a caring soul as yours will) do as I have done and foster illusions in your , but I ask that if you've seen this before for me that you tell me.
I would, of course, love to see you soon.

'Love,
E.K.

To Noelle

Dear Noelle,
The two of us could be much more,
It occurs to me in thinking o'er
Our heartfelt times and honest words
That strike the very telling chords
Of something intent in the murk
Where softly stirring somethings lurk,
Mention, whisper, and, I find,
Will not go unheard by my mind.
We fear the treason doubtings find
Ingrained in saying my goodbye
To her and letting "you and I"
Blossom, bloom, so let it lie,
Let it wither, let it die.
Many tears will slip my eye,
But I'll consent to never try.
If you wish, want, and will,
From but a tap I'll ask my fill,
Let constraints control its drip,
And watch it slowly trickle, slip
Into a newly broken crack
In my heart, encased in black.
Love?,
He who would be Dylek