Dear Kerrigan Querida,
Roses are red. Violets are blue.
You belong to me. I belong to you.
Okay, fuck that. You know I don’t do the sappy shit, but I wanted you to have something that’s from my heart anyway. I fucking love you. Plain and simple.
I’m a better person with you in my life. When other people look at me, they see a thug for hire, a murderer, someone they should fear. And they’re right. But you . . . you see me as someone deserving of someone like you. You believed in me even when I had written myself off along with the rest of the world, and that’s some serious shit. In this case, shit would be a good thing.
Fuck me . . . I’m terrible at this sort of thing, but Gabe insisted you would like it. I don’t know why I let him talk me into things. Especially when I’d rather show you how I feel with my fingers, hands, tongue, and more than anything, my cock – because I know what the fuck I’m doing when I’ve got you naked, or even semi-naked in front of me, under me, on top of me . . . ravishing every part of you with every part of me. Goddamnit. See what the hell you do to me, woman? I swear I’m not a horndog. Okay, so maybe I am, but bringing you so much pleasure that you nearly pass out is the only way I know to express my feelings for you and my gratitude for all that you’ve done to make my miserable existence one worth living.
Bottom line, you saved me from the demons that haunted me, from a curse that threatened to make me fade from existence, and from my father Satan’s Left Nut. But most importantly, you saved me from myself. And you love me . . . like no other woman ever has or could.
These are the things that make me grateful that someone out there made sure our paths crossed and I get to spend the rest of this life, and every life hereafter, irrevocably attached to my soul mate. When I think about spending every day of forever making love to the most beautiful, most caring, most giving woman to ever breathe air . . .
Christ, now I have a fucking boner. I can’t help it. I just keep imagining the way you feel when I’m inside you, the way your full lips look when they’re wrapped around my cock, the gentle bounce of those fantastic tits when you’re riding me, and your smell . . . your taste when you grant me access to bury my face between those creamy thighs. Most of all, the brightness of your eyes when you call out my name in ecstasy. I fucking do that to you, and you have no idea what knowing that does to me in return.
Dammit, there I go again. I’m just going to end this now so I can find you and show you some of every last fucking detail of these things, because, yeah, showing is a hell of a lot better than telling.
I don’t deserve you. I know this. But, I will spend every second of every day of an eternity just trying to be worthy of you.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Querida. Mi alma es tuya por siempre . . . my soul is yours forever.
P.S. I might have written a song for you that explains how I feel, which is markedly better than this epic failure of a love letter. Yeah, so . . . just listen to it. You really do make me a better man.