I wrote a letter to you some time ago. I wasn’t sure if I was going to send it but I held on it. I found it during the construction when my thoughts were of you.
It said that there were no words to describe why I liked you. I don’t remember the impetus. But I thought God do I have to make proclamations. UGH.. It was a “cop-out” nicely written but total crap. If anyone has words it would be me.
I have never regretted any smile, any conversation, argument, war of words, one upmanship, txt mess, email smoke signal with you. I revel in the moments..,actually.
I look at you and see a remarkable man. I think you are quite perfect
The oldest definition of "perfection", fairly precise and distinguishing the shades of the concept, goes back to Aristotle. In Book Delta of the Metaphysics, he distinguishes three meanings of the term, or rather three shades of one meaning, but in any case three different concepts. That is perfect:
1. Which is complete — which contains all the requisite parts;
2. which is so good that nothing of the kind could be better;
3. Which has attained its purpose.[4]
Why you ask ? Well, It is not in that thing you do or what you have or can provide. It is what I see in the person that you are. “And who you be”, for lack of better phrasing.
Life is chaotic and if in that we can find silence that is true Grace. But the fear is we don’t know where it leads us. Perhaps is why it soothes me to wander among the noise. Regardless… silence is like this fine sieve that edits down to a single voice.
You are loved,
Under the dust,I am my own,
Rebecca
