Mrs. Brisby
She is like a ripe peach of a day . . if she were to die, I would rescucitate her, and bleed myself to death.
Your ability to face death with love, uncertainty with faith,
and your beautiful smile, and warm voice
drop my heart every time.
I do want to share this bed with you,
this ring I want to place on your finger,
this life I wish to surrender to you,
my pride,
my cool,
my personal interests.
Me,
a strong, recovering drug addict,
and you,
a crazy, courageous widow who went to go ask rats
to move your cinder home so your boy
would not die of pneumonia, and being torn up by a piece of farm equipment;
we could make wonderful children together.
I love you, Mrs. Brisby,
my heart feels these words true.
I wish you were tonight, my love,
because you are more than a Don Bluth creation to me;
you are more than just a "fantasy";
I do need you, Mrs. Brisby; your love is vital to my life,
and, I believe, mine is to yours.
Love is sharing,
love is caring,
love is daring,
and neverending.
You could teach me more the art of love, and how to share more,
and I could show you the gift of silence more, and how to listen for the white noise of life.
For there are spirits in the air,
Mrs. Brisby;
oh, yes,
they brought me to you!
So,
Mrs. Brisby,
I suppose what I am asking, is,
will you take me as your lawful wedded husband, and to love me, and cherish me, until the end of time?
I produce to you not a perfect heart, but an honest one, a heart filled with good humor, and cheer, sympathy, compassion, knowledge, love, and, most of all, restraint.
I love you, Mrs. Brisby. Although I not hold your hand tonight, in my mind, you are already with me.