1:20 AM, Saturday, May 3, 1997.

I love A ... This love seizes my heart and my being and shivers my soul into resonances that shake me into joy.

She is a jewel - a genuine, pure, heart and soul - outshining any of her clouds, confusions and obscurations. And I can see this, I can feel this jewel emerging into brilliance one facet at a time: genuine in her compassion, genuine in her wrath, genuine in her passion, genuine in her grasping.

This beauty of being is mirrored in her physicality inseparably from her soul: her eyes, her face, her lips, her skin, her neck, her breasts and nipples swinging, her hands and fingers, her scent and taste and swollen eager textures and movements and mouth and shudders and sounds and breath and vivid hair and delicate hair and swirls and whorls of sexual hair and crimson partings and sweet, slippery invitation.

A mind of sharpness and clarity, an endless creative spring that flowers continuously, unafraid in her uncorrupted innocence and courageousness.

This is who she is, even when she slides into clouds of ego, because, even then, her purity shines through uncorrupted, never to be corrupted.

To love A ... is to see and love all that is human in her, and myself, and others, and to touch a true joy beyond all outward circumstances.

Can she see and feel and accept and believe all this of herself? I do not know, but I will always reflect it back to her the best I can.

I feel blessed by her very being. I swim like a dolphin in the sea of the joy of loving her, and I know once more what it is to be alive.