my careless contagion

Thank you, Lord, for these moments with her. Holding her hand in the theater and fighting back tears of happiness because this is what I always wanted. Here she was, and sitting next to me as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Thank you for letting me see her heart and to understand, at least in part, such a beautiful soul — a special soul that knows no equal. I get to hear what's in her heart, her mind, and to see your imprint on her. It's all over her, in, and through her.  Thank you for letting me be something in her life. Just to be here is a miracle for which I am beyond grateful. She makes me incredibly happy, and I can't help but see her as a gift. I get to enjoy her, feel her warmth radiating next to me, revel in the scent of her skin, and bask in her laughter. And what beautiful laughter! I'm in love with the sound of her voice. I don't think there's a single thing about her I haven't fallen in love with. The sum total of her is probably more...

Some big news is coming which I've been laboring over. Stay tuned. Hang onto your hats! I know, you wait with bated breath.  *** I knew a girl. She was made of something I had never seen. I wonder how many others knew her secret. Did they see what she was made of, or something else? Did they understand what they were looking at was rare and perfect and beautiful or did they see the package it came in, which was also quite compelling?  I knew she was made of something better. I always knew. I secretly admired her most of my life. The last few years it was out in the open. Maybe it scared her, knowing a man saw her that way, but it wasn't anything to fear. I was always the most harmless and gentle man, even more so with her. I never once meant her any harm. If she could have seen my heart, she would have known she could trust me.  She knew I saw her as precious and beautiful. I saw what God did in her heart. I loved her greatly. She cared how I saw her, and, unfortunately, ...

The woman defies explanation. And, try as I might, I still can't adequately describe her. It's like looking into the sun and trying to describe its brightness. Boy, you'll go blind doing that. What’s the analogy for words, though? Perhaps, if I keep staring into her brightness, I'll run out of words. Will I ever run out of words for her delicate features, luminous skin, and everything that lies beneath? Only God knows.  It's like she’s from another time and place that never existed where people are true and fair and honest to a fault. So authentic. So innocent. So pure. I want to put a smile on her face and laughter on her lips for the rest of her life. She deserves that and more. She radiates something to which I gravitate. I've never been able to name that thing. It's her. It's something in her I fell in love with years ago. That innocence. Does she know what it does to me? She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Inside and out.  I'd li...

" How long will I write like this?" I hear myself ask again. The answer comes as surely as the sun rises: "As long as an ember of her still burns in my heart." And so I write, though no one listens or understands. All these things about her I felt deeply and often for the first time. It went beyond any native desire or feeling I've ever held. It was a gift from somewhere else; it didn't come from me. And I gave these words to the world because I didn't know what else to do. N one of this is hyperbole. This is how I see her. This is how I feel. It felt like a gift that I saw what she is: her mind, her heart, her soul. (Besides all of that, she is ridiculously pretty.) Some may wonder what the big deal is, but they didn't see her to the depth I did. No human being has moved me like she did and continues to. I can't help but write about her. If anyone is asking if she is truly that special, yes, she is that special . The love she shows is beyond wor...

Emma Watson, full name Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson, was born in April 1990 (in Paris), when I was almost 13 years old. Unrelatedly, my ugly yellow and gray mountain bike, which I received for my birthday that year, I still own. Moving on. I know what you're thinking. Is this yet another one of Joshua's slobbery fan posts about a girl he will never in a million years be with, much less meet? Why, yes. Yes, it is. And haven't you written about her before? Boy, you ask a lot of questions. Since when has that stopped me before? On with the show!  Emma embodies perfection. I know, some of it is celebrity/studio perfection. It's a nice image, though. At a time in history when everyone is revealing all their garbage, she keeps a pretty clean image. The way she talks. The way the words flow out of her. Her mannerisms. The way she walks. Her head tilt. Eyelashes batting. The glow of her skin and the spark in her eyes. Her laugh. Her smile. Oh, her smile. Or when she scrunches h...

I wrote the main section a while ago. Tacked some thoughts on the end recently. *** My dearest. For someone who is not in my life — and hasn't been — I think about her far too much and far too often.  For a man used to running from women, how did I end up like this? How did one little girl suspend my aged logic? How did one girl manage to turn everything upside down?  S he tamed me.  I was wild. I was free. But she made me hers.  I don't think she understands how suddenly nervous I become when I am near her, how awfully dry my mouth gets, how my brain freezes and I become dumb, the words won't come, my hands start shaking, and I become strangely and uncontrollably emotional, like tearing up talking about any stupid thing. I wonder what is wrong with me, why I am so off. This isn't me! Who is this idiot? What makes a man like this? What tears through his bravado so easily, rendering him naked? To stand in front of the woman you love with a naked heart is something rar...

To what or to whom can I liken her? A precious stone? A film star from a bygone era? How about a film star from a bygone era who was known for her love of precious stones? Perfect. Yes, that's what she is. She's perfect. But my analogy is imperfect. Marilyn was typecast as an airhead and easy. My girl is neither of those things. She is all class all the way and all the more inspiring. She's also unattainable. Whatever went through my head when I thought I could be with her — even though it was only for a brief moment — was madness. I may as well imagine myself with Marilyn Monroe. If she is Marilyn Monroe, then who am I? To whom should I liken myself? I am Jay Gatsby. But Jay Gatsby is fictional, whereas I am flesh and blood. Then I'm Joe DiMaggio. Okay, go ahead and laugh. I'm not a baseball legend. But I am in love with an unattainable woman, much like Joe DiMaggio was with Marilyn Monroe. He loved her long after their 9-month marriage ended. Yes, that...