Love Letters From A Stranger


My idea of Christmas, wether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. 
Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?
Bob Hope

To my dearest,

During this time of the year we get -almost literally- abused with the loving and caring we should, or apparently ought, to portray. Love all and all will be loved! However it's a hard time trying to think of writing your loved ones sincere Christmas greetings when the EXACT words you were going to use are already printed on the card itself. And you can't just put your name on it because that may seem very 'not caring' and 'not loving'. What we want is something thoughtful. Something sweet, nice and thoughtful.

Right.

So in all despair you turn yourself to the one and only thing you can trust in this world: Google. And Google will produce you some very bad -but thoughtful- rhymes. But you're just not feeling it (because they are really really bad. We can't all be poets and some shouldn't even try being one). What to write, what to do. At this point it's almost crazy to think that showing affection or love in general can be so exciting and inspirational. To quote: Love is a many splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love! Sure McGregor, tell that to your dearest Kidman who [spoiler] died during all of the loving she could get. PASSION! It's passion we're lacking! We (I) need some passion to get me going. So where else to look (besides Google obviously) than history itself. They slaughtered and murdered their way through passion!

So I got myself a copy of Love Letters of Great Men and Woman, which includes -among other things- the private papers from Jane Austen (have you ever read a Jane novel??) and some words scribbled by ol' Henry VIII (divorced, beheaded and died, divorced, beheaded, survived! Passion doesn't even cover it). And naturally it wouldn't be complete without some lovely muttering from Mozart or the beheated love put to paper by none other then Napoleon and 'his' Josephine? Passion, passion, passion. Love, love, love.

If there's one thing you can take from this book: the word 'love' doesn't always mean what it means and its meaning can vary from the point of view it's been -in this case- written. Love, basically, is less than love and more than love ever can be. Love? It's a many splendored thing, it lifts you up where you belong, it's all you need. Accept if you're a woman. Than it's love and reputation. Than it's love and household. Than it's love and I can go on like this for a very long time. To love, to actually love, was (or is) a greater deed with much more to it than just love. And passion. Passion ain't gonna make it on its own either. *sigh*

So you want some nice words scribbled onto your Christmas greetings card in glitter pencil? (it's indeed a missed upportunity to not write a Christmas greetings card in glitter pencil. One might even wonder if you're human or not)? DO YA?! Love is a lie! Nothing is unconditional! Passion is dead! So, here ya go in pre-printed wishes and all:

Merry f*cking Christmas

Love,
Dominique

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