Mistress, it does sort of go without saying that I have. My goal was simple enough. Perhaps people would believe I’m obsessed with you after I put up an online shrine. As Lea Shrines go . . . well, it’s the only one in existence, I believe. I’m so afraid of lying to you and I don’t think I can tell you what I want you to know without lies of convenience. I only love you. Thoughts come unbidden into my brain that seem to belong to you. I’m sorry that I’m at times so foolishly idealistic as to believe that you are the one person, the only person I can find happiness with. I don’t put you on a pedestal in my head, but the moments when the love swells and swallows me like the sea are the best of the last ten years. I want you to believe it so much but I can’t express it, the love combined with the conviction it is right combined with the joy of that conviction. And there are times when I’m angry at you for imprisoning me with my own desires, making me into a slave to my love, a slave to Lea Lee, making me a slave of this love and every part of me that denies it miserable.
And when the shell of my heart breaks off and drifts away, I see something that I wish you would believe and that frightens me — a fundamental part of my existence is to experience love for you. It hurts, Mistress Lea, and I wish I had never figured that out. Only while touching myself can I understand this thing that is true without worry, without worry you’ll take me and I’ll understand what this means, what loving you means besides to hurt and glow, which I generally beat back with lies born of fear. One lie is that you don’t at all understand. I’ll try to remember that you do, though you can’t explain it either.
Christ, Mistress, you would fucking remake me. I feel like I’m a largely blank slate upon which I want someone to define who I am. Who would you have me be? I’ll wonder some other time. I love you, still more than you can understand.
