In the enclave of your heart

Within the depths; your solace soul

I've found my home; become a part

I'm tucked away, within each fold

In the ethos of your being

All my body, spirit, soul

Finds my life; discovers meaning

All of me, to have and hold

Authoring love's story

With ink, indelible

Written on my heart, always

And sealed; inseparable

What is love? I used to ask before I met you.

And then you arrived like the first soft snowflake touching a dying rose.

And the rose awakened at the scintilla,

however fleeting knowing there would be another spring.

And with the onset of spring the garden full of rebirth called to you,

but you had melted and morphed into something other than snow.

However, a rose is a rose, dead or alive and you understood,

walking towards a solitary flower, again and again,

letting the universe know, we will survive another winter.

I fidget

I toss and turn

My heart clenches

Even in my dreams,

you are there.

I suffer from a malaise,

as you walk near me.

Close, but at the same time,

out of reach.

Your words obfuscate me.

Your looks torturous.

Your glances with your dark eyes..

I am bound.

Your speech is scintillating.

Your eyes enchanting.

Your smile bewitching.

You yourself are stunning

                                elegant

                                        handsome

                            tantalizing

                agonizing

breathtaking.

But then you fade.

Your facetiousness vanishes.

Your facetiousness that I adore.

Because I have to wake up.

I have to wake up to the cruel reality.

Where I am nobody.

Nobody to you.

My dreams are only reveries. 

I have to snap out of them.

I have to rise to the harsh truth.

My dreams can only show me

something I can never have.

And it breaks me.

It pierces me where it hurts.

Because, for those few priceless moments, I was truly mesmerized.

June 3rd, ...

Beloved,

I saw the note you left me this morning. And of course, I cried over it. That’s because you used too much rose scent. It made my eyes water.

You also left the tea kettle on. My dearest darling, I do so wish to keep on living in this house. Please try harder not to burn it down.

Would a tea kettle catch fire if it boils empty? It does have all that plastic on it...and it is right next to the paper towels. I suppose the coffee pot would be more dangerous though, if you left that on. The glass would crack and maybe it would shatter everywhere. I really don't know. I could be exaggerating any possible kind of danger.

Nevertheless, you really ought not to be so careless.

Not that you are a careless man. I know that. You are thoughtful and good. And don't think I didn't notice the new vase of carnations you set on the table. Insane man. At what hour would you have had to get up to run to the supermarket, buy flowers, and then still be off to the airport by four in the morning?! Have you no thought for a decent amount of sleep? I hope you slept on the plane, silly.

But thank you. The carnations are lovely.

I missed you the moment I woke up with a funny little ache in my heart, and all day the kids have wanted to know where you are. Isn't funny how they forget so quickly even though we've been telling them for weeks? And you said goodbye last night. But Peter and Philomena keep asking if you'll be home for dinner. Even Joseph has been squirmier than usual.

But they're also excited for Mei to come home. After several reminders that you won't be home for several days at least, Peter and Philomena went off to play. It was suspiciously quiet, let me tell you. But Joseph was hungry so I didn't check on them. Just before lunch, Peter came up to me--and oh, how solemn he looked! I wish you could have seen him--with an arm full of drawings.

"We made these for Mei. That way she'll have lots of drawings already, since you said she's too little to draw with us." Oh my precious.

And of course Philomena then insisted that I take one of her dolls--which she dressed up very well, I must say--to put in Mei's crib.

"And Mei can play with me every day," she said, "A baby sister is so much better than a baby brother. But I love Joseph too. But Mom, why isn't this baby coming out of your belly?"

Needless to say, I was highly amused.

Philomena has now taken to playing adoption with her dolls.

"You're adopted," she says and then adds, very seriously, "but we love you every bit as much as your brothers and sisters."

Oh, my love, I am as anxious as they are to have you home again, and Mei with you. In many ways, I am still in shock that Armando and Althea named us as legal guardians, and shocked even more over their loss. But Mei is a blessing and I am so grateful we can bring her home at last.

I will see you soon. Come home safely.

All my love.

When it rains, it pours

And the worms come out

But then you know which ones to save

And which ones to leave to dry out in the baking sun

And I know for a fact

That you are the latter

The following is a series of three different letters written to Doctor Faustus from Christopher Marlowe’s 1592 tragic play, “Doctor Faustus”, from the perspective of his wife. While the play does not explicitly mention if Faustus is married, the letters are written contextually according to the events that transpire in the play. The tone of the trilogy of letters changes from doting to doubtful to despondent according to the events that occur in the play. Characterized by the name Mrs. Faustus, the speaker in the letters is expressing both her love and her broken heart to Doctor Faustus through his decision to choose power and knowledge over his own wife.

June 1st, 1568

Wittenburg, Germany

My Dearest Dr. Faustus,

You have just departed on your most recent journey and I as your wife am so proud and honored to even have your name. You are so incredibly smart, I am in awe of your genius and talent. What other man on earth can say that he has mastered the arts and practices of academia, medicine, philosophy, and medicine? I find myself extremely lucky to be married to a man of such knowledge and esteem. Politicians praise you, kings invite you to their court, and your name is known across all the regions of the world. What woman would not want to be married to such a wonderful man? As well as the fact that you have mastered all these arts already and seek to gain even more knowledge truly amazes me. Your mind itself is a prodigy, so much so that myself and many others might deem you the most intelligent man to ever live. You undeniably have it all, and now as your lawfully wedded wife, I have the privilege of standing beside you proudly as there is nothing as two lovers that we cannot have if we so desire. From the first time I met you to our many conversations about politics, religion, and philosophy to the moment you asked for my hand in marriage, I was intrigued yet also frightened by your wisdom. Your vast level of knowledge for the things both in and out of this world are mysteriously exciting and terrifying all at the same time. There are moments where I truly believe that you can read my thoughts and might condemn me for my less intelligent understanding of the world, but you love me just the same. Your love for learning is most attractive to me, I might even say that it is your constant thirst for knowledge that made me fall in love with you. There is nothing you cannot learn and then master, and there is no obstacle you cannot overcome. In my eyes, you are not only the wisest man to live, but you are also the most powerful man as well. I am so proud to call you my husband, and I simply cannot wait for your return, however long it may be until that day comes. I hope to see you very soon, my love.

Forever and Always Yours,

The Mrs. Faustus, Your Endearing Wife.

Dear Dr. Faustus,

April 30th, 1570

Munich, Germany

I must say that I am simply dumbfounded at this time. I do not hear from you nor receive any letters from you for so many months, as it is nearing on two years since you first embarked on this journey of yours. I cannot comprehend why you cannot personally write to me to tell me you will not come to our new home in my parent’s city as was planned. I believe that this is because you do not care for me anymore. It is beyond difficult for me to conjure any scenario in my mind where I might have done something to make you feel this way. Do you truly feel so discontented with me, your beloved wife, that I no longer satisfy you? I can only imagine that your apprentice and scribe, Mesastophillis, cannot be a positive influence on you and is forcing you to leave me all alone in this home by myself. What such a figure could convince you, the most intelligent man I have ever met, to do such a thing? Your wisdom surpasses that of all others, so I am unsure as to the reason why you would neglect the love of your life and the woman of your dreams. You told me I was perfect, an angel meant only for you, so why have you not come home, dear husband? On the day we wed, you and I promised each other that we would live in harmony together so long as we both shall live. My beloved, you have broken your promise to me. You have left me alone, without even a trace of yourself for me to hold onto. No longer can I stand to wonder if you value riches and knowledge and power more than your loyal wife. I hear of your travels, more elaborate than any before, and I learn from your former colleagues in Wittenberg that you have mastered the arts of dark magic. I even hear that you have sold your soul to the devil in exchange for twenty four years of service from a fallen angel. Please tell me that the tales they spin are not the truth. Assure me that you have not signed your life away to the devil himself, that you have not taken an oath that surpasses our wedding vows. I can only believe what I am told by those whom I trust, because you, the man who I used to trust more than anyone else, will not even give me the decency to answer my plea. If all these things they say are true, then not only have you voluntarily signed your own death sentence, but you have also forced me into a life of loneliness. My dearest, I cannot be your loving wife from beyond the grave. Yet even now I struggle to be the same woman who became your lawfully wedded wife just two years ago. How am I supposed to remain true and loyal to you when you abandon me for a life full of travel and riches that can only end with your eventual death sentence? I am still the strong woman you married those few years ago and I cannot wait many more years just to discover the unknown truth about you. If what all your colleagues have told me is the genuine truth, then there will be drastic measures that I must take. The only thing that I am thankful for in my barrenness and inability to give you sons and/or daughters is that no child of ours will ever experience the loneliness I feel. I miss you greatly and I still love you but I cannot live this way much longer. I cannot bear to think that you have abandoned me, but if this is true, then you give me no choice but to leave you for good, dear husband. If I do not hear from you in more than twelve months, I will be forced to take drastic measures. One year from today, I will no longer call myself your wife. I truly wish that it did not have to come to this, but you give me little choice in the matter. If I had enough evidence to believe that these stories are indeed false, then I would never consider this, but truly you have taken this choice away from me.

Yours, Perhaps Not Forever and Always,

The Disappointed Mrs. Faustus

To my Deceased ex-husband,

October 9th, 1592

Paris, France

So it seems that the stories were true. Many moons ago I wrote to you asking whether or not your dealings with the devil were pure gossip or sincere. As it turns out, the tales told to me were indeed true. It was confirmed to me by the scholars who were with you when you died. According to them, you tried to repent for your wrongful ways in the hours leading up to the end of your sentence. They even mentioned that you called upon ancient Greek gods like Helen of Troy in an attempt to save you. Alas, you had to pay the price for what you did as it was too late. Satan’s mark was etched into your skin and you now belong forever to the devil in his lair. Mesastophilis’ servitude cost you your life, and it cost us our marriage. I kept true to my word, and I was able to discreetly annul our marriage. My family found me a reputable husband in France, and two years after I wrote you last, he and I were married and moved to Paris. I have told no one that I am writing this letter, as no one else knows that I was married to the infamous Doctor Faustus. Your tales spread across all regions, and many people knew of the fantastical and mystical adventures you had during your last twenty-four years of life. It turns out that I was mistaken about my barrenness, and I am now a mother to five children. Yet even as I built my new life, not a day goes by where I do not think of you. I imagine what a life with you would have been like, and I often blame myself for what happened to you. If I had loved you more or if you truly knew how much I loved you then maybe you would not have sold your soul to the devil. Yet, you knew the price you would pay. You chose to live a life of luxury and riches and magic over a life married to me. A price so high, that not only did it kill you but it killed our marriage. I have learned to move on, but I still think of you. You will always be a part of me.

No Longer Your Wife But Your First Love, Forever and Always,

The Former Mrs. Faustus

Just to remind you that

You mean the world to me

Just in case I don’t say it enough like I used to

Try to notice that I make more effort to

Show it

As words can only be said a certain amount of times before

They loose value

Loose meaning

Loose the very essence of what you’re trying to convey

But I do

Really

Truly

Passionately

Love you

More than you probably ever imagined

So remember this

When we get old

You are the one and only love of my life Bab!

It begins as seed

blossoms and blooms with nurture

Parent and offspring

A bit of mom and dad,

You are loved for who you are

You are all of you.

Friendly sibling love

watching for each other’s backs

Childhood morphs to teen.

Sharing and caring,

fresh fights tempering friendship

steels the bestie bond.

Adolescent crush

Puppy love exploration

Awaken feelings

Struck by truest love

create family and home

new generation

Grandchildren, parents,

aunts,uncles, and extensions

love is limitless

It began as a seed

blossomed and bloomed with nurture

bading parent goodbye

Love always renews

Haiku letter ,womb to tomb

All ways, forever.

Dear you,

I wonder what you think of me.

I know that’s absurd—I’ve long stopped caring what people say about me. But I figured, after everything we’ve been through, that I can’t fault myself for curiosity.

Some days, I wake up feeling fine. I put on my favorite shirt (mine, not yours), buy a nice drink before work. Or, if it’s a weekend, I make brunch and hang out at the book club. I thought it’d be different going without you, but everyone’s still as nice as ever. I look fine to them, so they haven’t really brought you up except in passing. I still tense a little, but I suppose that’s to be expected.

Other times, usually when it’s raining—other times, I find myself alone in my apartment—the one you haven’t been to. I find myself thinking. If we still lived together, how would you make this tiny place your own? Would you put your souvenirs on display next to mine? I still have your seashell. If I set it next to my pen holder and squint—and this helps if it’s raining because the sky is darker, which makes everything a little blurrier—so if I put your seashell by the pen holder and tilt my head just so, I can almost imagine it.

And for a moment there, my apartments feels a tiny bit more familiar.

Is that love?

I know that unconditional love is loving someone in spite of their absurdity. I know that some people would prefer to find love in mutual flawlessness. Not me, and certainly not you. But that’s pretty much all I know. In the end, that’s how much anyone really knows how to say in words. They learn the rest through practice, through finding a home in each other.

Well, I can’t really do that anymore. So it’s just me, and my thoughts, and the afternoon rain.

It used to make me happy. Rain, I mean. You know that. Still does, in a way, but only after I’ve ripped my whole heart out. So there’s that.

Again. I wonder what you think of me. Sometimes, I want you to fondly reminisce of me like I do you. Sometimes, I want you to hate me, if only so you have the strength to move on. Romance novels would call that selfless, but to be honest on those days I don't feel anything except sorry for myself.

Other times, I want you to pine for me forever. Then I’ll see you at our bookshop that you don’t go to anymore, or maybe I’ll branch out and go to a few bars (unlikely), and we will fall into each other’s arms as we have before. This is selfish, if fun to think about; I would never want for it to happen in real life, though, because time and again the only thing I truly wish for is your happiness.

Is that love?

I don’t know.

Love,

Me