A Love Letter That Made Napoleon Bonaparte Roll Over in His Grave

The following is the revised edition of a love letter. If you receive this, it is because you are judged to possess poetic sensibilities, and not necessarily because you are the love object of the author. The letter was written during one of those rare stupefied drunken moments with words while the author was seized by the angels of love or so he fancied, au style de Paul Verlaine. Without further ado, here's the letter:

"Honey dearest:

The following poem was composed with you in mind:

"Thou walked in beauty in the night

Of bright moon and starry sky,

But nothing could be as bright as thy smile

When thou softly said in a voice so fine 

That thou would like to look into my eyes, 

Then whisper into my ear while holding me tight

That thy love for me could no longer be denied. 

 I felt then and there I was bathed in a shower of lights."

I can assure you that in this world and on this planet, few men, Vietnamese or otherwise, can write in English such exquisite lines as those in the above poem. And the lines are fresh. They were not used before to any woman.

Love is real when the idea of separateness is intolerable. Love is true when the mere thought of the beloved brings us peace. Love is affection and respect catching fire and enflamed with passion and giving of oneself. Love makes us strong, and we find life worth living and beautiful because somebody is turned on by us and we in turn turn on somebody. We realize we are appreciated, needed, and wanted. 

I am not perfect. I am moody and touchy and vain and easily irritable and "small". But I am fair, empathetic, kind, gentle, and honest. I am a walking contradictions. 

I am vulnerable. Many women have played games with me. Such women typically wanted something material from me. I didn't know that until it was quite late. I was stupid and dumb.

Basically, I have artistic sensibilities. I like the arts and I respect artists. I am an artist with words. I also like knowledge. I try to improve my mind. I read quite a bit. I keep myself very busy: working, playing poker semi-professionally, reading, writing, learning languages (French, Spanish, German, Italian, Portuguese, Chinese, and Latin. I can read French and Spanish novels and poetry), and exercising. I regard myself an intellectual. I can argue and debate. Very few, if any, humans have beaten me in a debate because I possess a logical mind and a flair to present my reasoning. However, I debate in order to find out if my views are unassailable or not, not because I want to win.

I am an original. It is very unlikely you run into another human like me. I like women who are kind and honest; patient and strong; patriotic and not materialistic. In short, I like women who are like me. Despite giving signs to the contrary, I like myself. A lot. A whole lot. Just like I like you a lot. Nay, I like you more than a lot. But you already know that, don't you? Many years ago, when I lived in the Southern Hemisphere as a restless, suicidal student, I went to see a movie about Saint Francis, a song in the movie broke out and seized me, all trembling and tremulous, "Brother Sun, and Sister Moon...." Ever since, moon, stars, and night sky have dominated my interior landscape, especially at night. Now that I know and love you, the domination is stronger than ever. Tonight, it gave birth to the poem above.

Yours truly and lovingly, 

Roberto Wissai/NKBa' "