Love letters and such.

My goal for the month of June was to post once a day. I am going to have to skip a few days because I am on post 7 or 8 and it is only the 5th. Hrmph. I love this shit.

Elizabeth Taylor is publishing most of her love letters from Richard Burton. SIGH. How romantic. The only one she isn't publishing is the last one she received, written days before he died and opened by her just after. She keeps it by her bedside, and reads it every night. Apparently he told her he was happiest with her and wanted another chance to "come home." :(

Love story of the century, seriously. Those two loved each other more deeply than two people should, I'd imagine.

Maybe it was written in the stars for them. If you believe all that. Liz's birthday is February 27th, so Pisces? Burton was November 10. Scorpio. I know that. Mine is the 3rd. Is that a good match, astrologically speaking? Apparently.

I can't wait to read these letters. I have read excerpts of some. Oh! I wish people still wrote love letters like that! I wish people still wrote love letters at all.

Examples:

One of these days I will wake up--which I think I have done already--and realize to myself that I really do love. I find it very difficult to allow my whole life to rest on the existence of another creature. I find it equally difficult, because of my innate arrogance, to believe in the idea of love. There is no such thing, I say to myself. There is lust, of course, and usage, and jealousy, and desire and spent powers, but no such thing as the idiocy of love. Who invented that concept? I have wracked my shabby brains and can find no answer."

"You must know, of course, how much I love you. You must know, of course, how badly I treat you. But the fundamental and most vicious, swinish, murderous, and unchangeable fact is that we totally misunderstand each other ... we operate on alien wave-lengths. You are as distant as Venus--planet, I mean--and I am tone-deaf to the music of the spheres. But how-so-be-it nevertheless. (a cliche among Welsh politicians.) I love you and I always will. Come back to me as soon as you can ...

‘I lust after your smell … and your round belly and the exquisite softness of the inside of your thighs and your baby-bottom and your giving lips & the half-hostile look in your eyes when you’re deep in rut with your little Welsh stallion
,

My blind eyes are desperately waiting for the sight of you. You don’t realise of course, E.B., how fascinatingly beautiful you have always been, and how strangely you have acquired an added and special and dangerous loveliness.

‘Your breasts jutting out from that half-asleep languid lingering body, the remote eyes, the parted lips.

I know I’m a terrible liar sometimes, but please believe that I have never betrayed either in word or deed the physical you or the mental you. I simply love you too much. I flatter and am flattered and both too easily. It’s only a question of booze. I behaved like an idiot ... I deserve all the injury that you can inflict, and I will take it as long as you stay with me — Husbs (I hope).’

On the back of a photograph taken in 1970 of her running towards him, he wrote: 'She is like the tide, she comes and she goes, she runs to me as in this stupendous photographic image.

'In my poor and tormented youth, I had always dreamed of this woman. And now, when this dream occasionally returns, I extend my arm, and she is here ... by my side. If you have not met or known her, you have lost much in life.'

She is a wildly exciting love-mistress, she is shy and witty, she is nobody's fool, she is a brilliant actress, she is beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography... she is an ache in the stomach when I am away from her, and she loves me! ... And I'll love her till I die.'

I mean, what passion!!! I don't think people feel like that anymore. Well, I do, but I am hard pressed to see it in anyone else.

I wrote a love letter like that once. I poured my heart out in prose on 3 sheets of white paper. I handed the letter to him expectantly. I never heard anything back.

Dick.

I have never received a letter like that. I think my heart would just break to know someone felt that way about me.

Passion is at the forefront of everything I do. I get upset when those around me don't show as much passion as I do. Maybe Burton and I are kindred spirits.

We both like to drink...

Get it?? kindred spirits.