Valentine's Day is coming up, and the Village Voice has presented us a very sweet valentine in the form of love letters written by random readers. I've taken the liberty of pulling one of the more remarkable excerpts.
dear you:
(you should read this letter alone, sitting down, with a glass of water.) (you should read this when nobody is home, sitting on your bed, in a bedroom I've never been in, but have just glimpsed, with your drawings on the walls.) (dear you, you should read this with me next to you on the bed in your bedroom, you should read this with me just barely touching you, with all of our winter clothes still on, sweater to sweater—my orange one to your blue. dear you. I hope you will read this with me beside you, my tension contained and diffused through my body, so that I take off my sweater to prove an unconscious point to you, look up at you, as I have before, for a signal from your hand. dear. it is my great wish that you will read this as I try to cross my legs for you, and you, still reading, steady my thigh with your hand, hold it as if I'd made you a present of it. I hope you will read this letter. turning towards me. you should read it just before your glasses are off. you should read it just before. you should read it just before i am trying to make as much skin touch you as i can, because i want and need you finally, yes. you should read this right before every time i've ever looked at you and loved you and not said it, and held it in and bit my lip, gets concentrated in these hips of mine, who are dying to say it:) now, now, now, now, now, now and i do, yes, love you. —a.e.b.s.
