A Letter to Natasha | LIFE WILL NOT BE THE SAME WITHOUT YOU

LIFE WILL NOT BE THE SAME WITHOUT YOU

Dear Natasha,
I know we had a rough ending to our last time together. It’s been killing me on the inside. I’m sure it doesn’t generate the best of feelings for you either. That’s unacceptable, for both of us. I want to be as clear as I can be with you. I love you. I don’t know how to explain it, nor do I have a good enough reason for why; I just do.  However this letter to you is not going to be a homework assignment, it’s a way for me to see if there really is anything in this life worth fighting for, besides the obvious, like children, or animals, or just plain innocence. You and I can plainly see that we were simply meant for one another. I’m a special man. You are a special woman. The world seems like two wires, I am one, you the other, and we are slowly being brought closer, and closer, to a point where it feels itchy, and tingly, and as if the reality surrounding my body is pulling inward towards a spherical center. Like a gravity vacuum, of immense, empathic force. A crescendo of epic proportions is arcing itself to an eventual surge of blueish, pinkish, streams of powdered consciousness, and electric clouds of static ecstacy, that sizzle, crack, and rumble into the leylines of the planet, as if we were made out of only, power. CARING, LOVING, POWER.

Since the moment I could absorb your presence via the lenses I was lent to spectate, and observe this quarantined, toroid, of an existence, I knew I had to know more. I need to know more. I feel like every day that goes by, my life is being syringed out of my heart and into a vat of plasmic, essence, of despair. Cherry red, whorls with an off-white, pearlescent, glow of a substrate, that feeds directly into a graduated encapsulation. The mere sight of this monstrous vehicle of extraction would normally send a normal peasant of a liquid caulk gun, into hastefully slurried biological autonomous reflexion, to purge the entire contents of a lifetime of joy, happiness, comfort, security, calm mornings, cool breezes together during sunsets in the summer months, in one gargantuan pillage of the spine; a phony gesture of informal declarations, describing your complete liquidation of all my assets, and total ownership. Although, unlike those peasants, you never anticipated the potential or even the sheer possibility that an individual that has the ability to literally manifest a restore supply of 'rejuvenescentium.’ Natasha, I am infinite for you. I would pour a never ending river into your embankments, to permanently seal our cooperative existence, for the rest of our days.

I would NEVER do this FOR ANYONE. ANYONE! If I seem like I’m lying, so be it.
But the truth is the truth, and my heart, most of all, cannot lie.
If you just can’t bring yourself to be my eternal partner in this world magic and wonder, and to have a sword finally available to defend your lone shield, until the light in my lamp goes dim, to black. I need to be able to find trust in this hell. Just one woman, I can call, my friend, my lover, my partner, my wife, my life, my pain, my glory, my mirrored completion.

God, please, show this beautiful woman, the light.
Show her the truths yearning for her heart to allow growth.
Walk her through the gardens of my mind, I’ve plotted just for her.
Where we can grow everything and anything we want, for as long as we can.

I just want to be a man, your man.
Not for just a night, or a fight full of angst and strife,
But for better, or for worse,
Laughing, playing, soaring with God, You, and I… into the afterlife.

Love always, forever, and even backwards into antiquity-to super nova explosions that loop transcend around back into our minds, the moment we reunite. May it play in the VCR’s in the 80’s of some planet, in another galaxy, where two teenage interdimensional people watch on their little TV, in bed, during a rainy Thursday night, and they make out at the same time we do, so they too, can feel like they were part of our movie, our show, our REVOLUTION,

Dion Rocco Gennaro Magistro -
Nadya Magistro? Natasha Magistro?
I love it.
So fucking sexy…take my name, girl.
Letter to Natasha.m4a
11.1 MB
hanging with natasha.mp4
6.4 MB