Young Writers Society

The founding fathers of America would have no doubt wished that on this day the sun in his course would visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than your own country. Envision with what the landscape of such a perfect Utopia might appear. Take a moment and imagine and feel the beautiful brightness of the warm sun on your face, as your body is caressed and brushed by the gentle breeze. And imagine the skies as they light up with life, as they open like flowers, blooming with joy as a statement of victory. Enjoy this spectacle of life and celebration.

Now imagine feeling that every minute of every breath you take. On this one day, for one moment, enjoy life and freedom filled with joy. This is what it feels like to for me to love you every day. You are the most beautiful garden I'm living in..

A flowing flurry of flowers that floods my being with the fragrance of romance. you bring zest and enthusiasm into my life. You are the girl with the sunshine smile. Your voice is like a ray of hope. You fill my life with all the rainbow colors. Looking at you on my desktop is like daydreaming while awake: it transports us both to our personal private utopia, a beautiful love garden, on a journey together, where ecstasy is not a word, but a reality. It is the place where hearing the sound of your voice means seeing you at the same time. Where your tears can be dried as you smile, the time without you erased by a single kiss...

"Can I..." I stop, my jaw flexed. "Can I kiss you?" You don't answer, and I don't wait for you to. My hands catch you gently behind the neck and I press my mouth to yours, softly but firmly. Then I move one arm around your waist and pull you closer to me I close my eyes and melt as my whole body is consumed in that kiss. I am nothing. I am everything. Chills ran over my skin, and fire burns inside me. My body presses closer to yours. My lips are warmer and softer than anything you probably could have imagined, yet fierce and powerful at the same time. They respond hungrily to the feeling of the kiss, and I tighten my hold on you. My other fingers slid down the back of your neck, tracing its shape, and every place they touch is electric. And the best part is, I, Franz M., guilty of constantly analyzing the world around me, I stop thinking. We stop thinking. And it is glorious...

For Canadians, July 4th is a reminder of the failed dream that America did not fulfill because, in modern terms, you unfortunately live in a country that eschews violent street protests in favor of snarky blog commentary. Which is why my love is not just is not the thing of starry-eyed or star-crossed lovers, assumed desiny to be taken for granted . Where there is smoke, there's fire.

Where there's you, there's desire. But my love for you comes in it's truest form: it is far more organic, requiring nurturing and time to fully bloom, and, as such, seen best not in its callow youth but in its wrinkled maturity. I will love you always. When your hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face, I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. May these words grant my wish and give you a sparkling end to your holiday this 4th of July.