|
by Janet
Rivenbark
“Thank you, Catherine,” Vincent said softly. “For what?” she asked, rolling her head on his shoulder so she could see his face. “For saving my life.” “Saving your life? When?” “That night in April.” “How?” “Maybe it was more like you gave me a life. Before that every day was the same…I was drifting.” “So was I,” she said as she stretched up and kissed the bottom of his jaw, all she could reach. He looked down at her. “Before, neither of us was complete,” he said with conviction. “Yes. So, I guess I should also say thank you.”
|
|
by JoAnn Baca
"Thank you, Catherine, for ever and always being the mirror to my soul, reflecting back the truest part of me. Of all your gifts to me, that is your greatest." He pulled her closer; she melted against him, clung to him, the newness of their lovemaking still stunning her with its beauty ... stunning both of them. "That reflection comes back to me, magnified." She kissed him warmly, her lips lingering against his. "Your love is my rock, my shelter ... it gives me wings." He smiled languidly, brushing a curl from her forehead. Before another kiss stopped his lips, he murmured, "I ... love ...." |
|
by
Alyssa G.
How can she, my light, my very life, thank me, for taking care of her? She was in pain from her father’s passing. Her pain is mine, how could I do less?
|
|
by Lara Hoyle
The note fluttered down wet with the rain that was spoiling many folks' plans to celebrate a spring day in The City... Vincent knew that he could not go up to Catherine's apartment until the night, and he hoped the rain would end by then, however he was the one to find the note in a small puddle that was forming under the grate. "Thank you Vincent, for the _ength you helped me _ind all those years ag_. I didn't know I _ad it in me. Y_ have been my rock _hrough all the good ti_es and the bad. _'ll be wa_tin_ with ba_ed breath _or you Above this _vening... I'll get a _arge order of chi_ese and buy Oolong tea on my way hom_ for our celebratio_ See you tonight my love," The rain had washed away Catherine's name but Vincent knew it was her writing, and let the letter dry before he translated the message's missing letters. He had Pascal tap out a message for one of the Helpers above just at the time Catherine was at the Chinese place to have some red roses delivered to her apartment with a message of "Forever my love." |
|
by Brittany Stem
Dear Catherine, Thank you for giving me hope. The hope you give to me renewed my will to live. Thank you for giving me courage. The courage you give to me helps me to love. Thank you for giving me dreams. I have hope with courage to dream impossibilities with you. Your compassion is something I draw strength from and it helps me to be better than I am. Thank you for that. You have all my gratitude, Catherine. You have given me dreams that turned into possibilities and those possibilities were made reality. In return, you have my love. |
|
by Carole W
“Thank you, Vincent.” Perched on the edge of the wooden dock, she swished her feet through the water. His back against the mooring post, he sat with one knee drawn up. Birds swooped black against the lavender and grey-rose sky. Beyond the trees the sun crouched, ruddy with satisfaction. The first breeze of evening excited the still surface of the lake. “For?” “For waking me.” He might have said, “We’ve been up for hours.” He might have said, “But, Catherine, you kissed me awake this morning.” But he didn’t. He simply looked at her ... with love. |
|
by Rusty / RedNightBird
Thank you, Catherine- Before the beat of your heart called out to me a library of words sat on dead pages. I read them only to wonder at the depth they could hold. The mystery of our love, the majesty of its meaning has strummed my heart to real life. A life we share in spurts, a life you wish to expand. Finally accepting your dreams to be our dreams --- on our anniversary I confess my gratitude at your unflagging pursuit of that dream. I surrender to you, Catherine…in Love. V |
|
by Olivia K. Goode
“Thank you, Vincent.” He felt the thought more than heard it. It whispered though his soul, even though he knew that already she was gone, climbing the ladder, entering her basement. Gone from his life. Gone always. The vice clenched his heart, his soul choked and breathless. The immense night… more immense without her…1 She’d found someone now, was speaking with them… Traveling rapidly away from him… Probably to a hospital, he thought. I can still feel her. She isn’t gone. Not really. He knew this now. We are still connected. How? Why? It can only be… Love. 1from Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines, by Pablo Neruda |