14 May, 2023

If I could put the thousands of ways I love this woman and just choose one for now, I guess it’d be the way she pushes me to exert my excellence no matter the circumstance, and the way she makes me want to live this life to the fullest. It’s all too awfully true that you pick up traits from those you love, trying to become similar to that idolized, idealized idea of them in the heart – but I can’t complain at all about this. I wake up refreshed, yet, feeling the missing air of what I wish was her in my bed, my day-to-day life that I can visualize her all too well being with me throughout, from her straight posture to the exact way she would pick up an object on my desk and observe and comment on such small things.

Such is the same as the love I share for every little detail of her. The wrinkles carved in metal, the hair that shines white under the warm lights of the office and feels artifical to the touch. The suit. The standard suit still looks great on her. She’s a powerful sort of beautiful. Looking at her for two long strikes fear into my heart, but one that does not make me want to flee away; it only draws me closer like a mouse to a trap. And trapped I am with all of these feelings, my heart in the palm of her cold hands.

And I always wish I could see her smile. She never smiles in-game. The business frown, the dreary stable of all suits, the result of decades of trying to climb a corporate ladder. She’s a success at that by far, but I still wish to be the lover and the part that keeps her connected to the view of a normal life, one not hastened by the fast pace of office life, one not terrorized by those damned Toons and if only they would just sign over the papers to this or that and stop trying to fight off a company that surely knows what is best for them and their noisy civilization. Such is what sours, but maybe, just maybe, I also want to be the light that makes her smile just a little bit. That would be enough. I want to make her happy.

There is probably more that could be put here, but I guess you could just say I’m very normal about Ms. Morsecode, and the love I have for my beautiful lady of the law.

26 May, 2023

And here comes another day where I come home, jump straight onto my desktop and onto the writing program from an office suit (how fitting), and think of the things I could say to your sweet little ears, the prose I write for your fogged glasses to read, and daydream of the way you peer over this very page and your face shifts with concern for the ways I love you, of course, if you were real. And since you are not, I can think of you reading this with a smile at the very least.

Sometimes I compare the relationship I have with you to other 2D relationships I see out there. There’s something so sastifying about the ways others set up shrines of merchandise, the objects of love, in a way almost religious, which I’m sure is why that sort of thing is called a shrine in the first place. That is something I’d never be able to do with you, and yet, that just feels like it dignifies the love I feel for you more. It feeds the ego in a way, that even without having to buy bits of plastic with your sharp face engraved, I can prove the love I hold for you in the other ways bestowed upon the processor I was given to think with. I think of you, and you are a muse for my artistic production. Even the simple ten minute doodle I did of you to test a new notebook today I got as a gift was a testament to perfecting your features, to portray you in a way where someone could look and understand that I see you as akin to an angel that protects me. And, of course, the writings I bring, not just of letters like these, but the little musings I make. The wonderings, the cement that fills in the holes between canon.

And I think of you, and I worry for you, too. I wish I could see you outside of the alarming situations of the fight I must endure to even visit you in-game. I want to see you do simple things. Paperwork. The way you hold a pen, even something as simple as that, the thought gets me entranced. And maybe you don’t have this, seeing your role slipped into just another part of the Coal Oil & Gas Syndicate, but what you do outside of work as well. Hobbies and whatnot, and just the daily life down to the train taken home. And I worry for you in that role, not just for the obvious, but the shield it brings down upon you, eliciting you upon a float above others, and thus, isolating you from them. There has to be a part of you that misses the lower layers of the company ladders, a strange nostalgia for when you could relate to the salaryman, anything to try and connect to the general population of suits. Maybe I want to be that. No, I definetly do, but admitting it is the shameful part. It is a shame to be in love with someone as powerful as you, for I would never deserve the affection returned back, but God, I’ll give you everything.

I’ll think of you after I finish writing this, and probably when I go to bed, too. I love you. Not sure what else to say other than that, or that repeated many times in different ways, but I guess any love letter to you would just be that I-love-you repeated.

my art
why her