No letter to a lover can ever make sense. These letters subsist wholly in the realm of what is felt but ungraspable. Some try by leaving lipstick marks on the page; others dip the paper in their perfume hoping that their lover, when he opens the envelope, is in turn enveloped by their scent. All of these attempts to collapse distance, to elucidate emotion. Yet, the true weight of every lover letter is elusive. This doesn't mean that Love is not matter—Love has weight and occupies space. Love is in fact a vector quantity, its direction is never deniable. What I am getting at, darling, is that when words fail and I am lost, your love is for me, the only compass that remains.