I find it ironic that, in your "flawed way of thinking," what you have deemed garbage (not always of your creation) has--now on two separate occasions!--helped to reinforce and strengthen my love for you. I don't have one of those items here, but you had better believe I plan to keep, frame, and pay proper reverence to this latest one.
You wrote me a poem--You made me INTO poetry and I'm not sure how you managed it.
But when you write me, you manage to make me sound like a man who is not merely interesting (anyone can be interesting), but something that fills you with poetic wonder. That is, by far, one of the greatest compliments I have ever been given. Because I know what makes you dream, Hermann Gottlieb, and to be counted among numbers and the cosmos and the quest for artificial intelligence... I don't know what I have ever done to deserve that. And yet I know you won't let me escape my flaws or cover them with a veneer of bravado--I know you will search out my truths and unearth my mysteries for even me to discover. You constantly remind me to be the man I can be, I should be, and who I want to be. You alone, Hermann, are the one I want to tell me I'm wrong.
You make order out of my disorder: you've followed along with me--intellectually, verbally, emotionally, and sometimes literally--defiantly straightening out the chaos. Hermann, I will never sort all my thoughts about you into anything as coherent and gorgeous as what you created -- nothing I write for you will be on par with what you wrote for me and thought worthy of the garbage bin...or not EVEN the garbage bin--you missed!
But I'm going to try, and if this falls into the waste basket in your room, you know why: I love you too much to ever capture you in words, because unlike you, I am better with the physical than the conceptual. But I hope...as yours did for me, that maybe my letter will make you feel beautiful and so very loved.
Because you are the night-sky. So still, cool, and elusive from afar--awe-inspiring--but there are worlds to discover in you. Stars and planets and galaxies--active and bursting with life and the unknown--that upon further inspection are whole universe unto themselves. There are fires in you, burning for eons, and cold desolate stars, and black holes and nebulae of colors we do not yet have names for... And if I traveled faster than the speed of light and explored every light I see in you, I could never understand everything in your expanding universe. You have so much depth and life and passion in you and so many people will never look close enough to ever see.
You asked (well, you didn't ask, but I'm telling you anyway)--You wondered what criteria you checked off to warrant my regard for you. And as I try to put that into words, I realize my best answer for you is "I don't know." THAT is the criteria you checked off. I could tell you that I find you attractive, or brilliant...but the truth is...you are all that and more. You are so unfathomable that you check off a list I didn't know existed, but cannot live without.
Hermann, once upon a time, perhaps I wanted to (not literally) dissect you and know you, but the thing that never ceases to surprise and scare me and inspire me now, is how equally we try to lay bare for each other to do so. I will gladly help you with your lifelong endeavor if you will critique and recognize mine as well. Please have patience with me; I will never fully understand you, but I want to...more than anything else in the world.
Eternity sounds like an awfully long time. But if I can be half so unpredictable as to be compelling to you for as long as we both shall live, Hermann, and if you can bear my garbage love letters, I can think of no one else better to spend eternity/lifetime(s) with, as long as you'll have me.
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Crumpled and left some hours later on Hermann's side of the(ir) bed
Date: 2016-04-29 07:08 am (UTC)I find it ironic that, in your "flawed way of thinking," what you have deemed garbage (not always of your creation) has--now on two separate occasions!--helped to reinforce and strengthen my love for you. I don't have one of those items here, but you had better believe I plan to keep, frame, and pay proper reverence to this latest one.
You wrote me a poem--You made me INTO poetry and I'm not sure how you managed it.
But when you write me, you manage to make me sound like a man who is not merely interesting (anyone can be interesting), but something that fills you with poetic wonder. That is, by far, one of the greatest compliments I have ever been given. Because I know what makes you dream, Hermann Gottlieb, and to be counted among numbers and the cosmos and the quest for artificial intelligence... I don't know what I have ever done to deserve that. And yet I know you won't let me escape my flaws or cover them with a veneer of bravado--I know you will search out my truths and unearth my mysteries for even me to discover. You constantly remind me to be the man I can be, I should be, and who I want to be. You alone, Hermann, are the one I want to tell me I'm wrong.
You make order out of my disorder: you've followed along with me--intellectually, verbally, emotionally, and sometimes literally--defiantly straightening out the chaos. Hermann, I will never sort all my thoughts about you into anything as coherent and gorgeous as what you created -- nothing I write for you will be on par with what you wrote for me and thought worthy of the garbage bin...or not EVEN the garbage bin--you missed!
But I'm going to try, and if this falls into the waste basket in your room, you know why: I love you too much to ever capture you in words, because unlike you, I am better with the physical than the conceptual. But I hope...as yours did for me, that maybe my letter will make you feel beautiful and so very loved.
Because you are the night-sky. So still, cool, and elusive from afar--awe-inspiring--but there are worlds to discover in you. Stars and planets and galaxies--active and bursting with life and the unknown--that upon further inspection are whole universe unto themselves. There are fires in you, burning for eons, and cold desolate stars, and black holes and nebulae of colors we do not yet have names for... And if I traveled faster than the speed of light and explored every light I see in you, I could never understand everything in your expanding universe. You have so much depth and life and passion in you and so many people will never look close enough to ever see.
You asked (well, you didn't ask, but I'm telling you anyway)--You wondered what criteria you checked off to warrant my regard for you. And as I try to put that into words, I realize my best answer for you is "I don't know." THAT is the criteria you checked off. I could tell you that I find you attractive, or brilliant...but the truth is...you are all that and more. You are so unfathomable that you check off a list I didn't know existed, but cannot live without.
Hermann, once upon a time, perhaps I wanted to (not literally) dissect you and know you, but the thing that never ceases to surprise and scare me and inspire me now, is how equally we try to lay bare for each other to do so. I will gladly help you with your lifelong endeavor if you will critique and recognize mine as well. Please have patience with me; I will never fully understand you, but I want to...more than anything else in the world.
Eternity sounds like an awfully long time. But if I can be half so unpredictable as to be compelling to you for as long as we both shall live, Hermann, and if you can bear my garbage love letters, I can think of no one else better to spend eternity/lifetime(s) with, as long as you'll have me.
Forever your Newton