Love of all loves, My adored Sophia –

It was with some bit of amusement I observed a number of matronly customers in the store where we shopped today. We were out of town and none of them knew us, but they certainly raised their eyebrows when you asked, as you often do, “Do you love me?” I answered you as I normally do when I said, “Perhaps a little, perhaps.” They did not see your smile as you walked away; they were much to busy glaring at me.

What they do not know is that I love you more than a “little,” and more than a “lot.” There are times when I am quite sure that I love you with all the complexity of every thought that has ever been thought by mankind and with the intensity of God as he created all things.

They do not understand, as you do, that not only are you my breath, but my reason for breathing – not only are you in my thoughts, but you are my thoughts – that I know longer know where I end and you begin. My love for you is totally consuming, just a “little, perhaps.”

As we got back onto the train, they were still glaring at me for having the cheek to tell a beautiful, adoring woman that I loved her “a little, perhaps.” What they could not see was my hand trembling slightly just from the touch of your hand as I helped you up the steps onto the passenger car. Nor could they have known that I most truly do love you, for you are noble and fine, gifted among women with love in your heart and passion in your veins. Perhaps, perhaps, it is more than a “little.”
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