Dear beloved,
It has been a while since I wrote with a hand. Perhaps, my hand forgot the curves it should take and force it must use while writing. Not a problem, your love still can regain them. You are always a strange girl for me. Strange enough to remember daily. I must admit, you have your selective seasons in you. When you smile and it sends a shudder in my heart I consider it as a frigid winter. And when you weep my conscience burns like a ceaseless forest fire resembling a torid summer. Rarely, but when fetchingly you blush what a beautiful spring it would be. I guess that not a speck of beauty was wasted by the god in making you. You have a gift dear, an enthralling and affirmative nature to make people love you. It will always be my love that loves you gratefully and vivaciously.
Love,
Your love.
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