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Emily Windsor

United States Age Debut: 19

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9.08
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Photos with Emily Windsor

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D

Dame Wilding 1 week ago

"my love Valentine for Emily Windsor, Beautiful Muse of my dreams"
Dear Emily Windsor/Bonnie Apricot,

As indirect as my love letter is to you, dearest most beautiful muse i have ever been lucky enough to see with my longing-to-belong-to-you brown eyes, and as hopelessly unworthy i am to be writing my Valentine letter of love to you so that somehow, some night, some way you may read -- with your lovely blue eyes which sparkle in the sunlight & gleam in the moonlight -- my tiny Valentine gift for you which i offer and softly submit: a love sonnet in free verse in which fourteen lines nor, even, fourteen hundred words would never be enough, like a flickering candle light in a cold night may offer the warmth you deserve or as a thin, frayed, worn blanket could ever provide your delicate & beautiful body the warmth you need. But i will try anyway to convey in inadequate words how much i adore you, how much i love you, although i "tango" alone here in my humble but warm mobile home, the same one in which i have lived for ten years.
If i were a Shakespeare or a Stevens-Woolf or a Dante or a Dickinson then, perhaps, my words of devotion and love wouold flow courageously and unceasingly. Perhaps, i should call myself Cheyenne von Unwerth, a sister of Ellen von Unwerth -- who i deem is quite worthy as a person and a very wondrous photographer -- or Cheyenne van Lamsweerde -- who i am sure is not at all weird but most certainly i am weird, 'though harmless as a turtledove, as passive and shy as a morning dove. For then, i could photograph your consummately beautifully perfect silhouette to celebrate the pure beauty of an ultra-thin body, your delicate curves & long, linear lines which inspire my ultra-feminine transqueerliness. And your face, your lovely visage -- so fair of complexion, so fine of bone, so delightful of gesture & innocent flirtation that any goddess or princess or enchantress would aspire to look so gaily, so sweetly seducing & alluring.
But i am merely a nanci-boi turned girly-girl transqueer who doesn't even own a camera and profoundly lacks their wisdom, their soulfulness, their spirit, their angelic & deeply innocent worthiness & lovingness. So my words of belonging and yearning love are written as awkwardly and as slowly as if i were a turtle crossing the sand seeking that wondrous shade it needs that it gazed upon so many long meters away, as centimeters are miles and minutes are years. (Woe to the turtle who is me as i languish upon my self-pity as if it is my breath, my nourishment.) My words are shamefully written as a morning dove who softly sings to hope that the beautiful nightingale it loves so sheerly, so queerly for the lovely nightingale to hear -- like the white 'Nightbird' who Stevie Nicks sings so poignantly, so beautifully -- but now the nightingale is sleeping & dreaming. Finally, the morning dove "awakens" to realize all-too fatefully their two lives run parallel & it seems their time to be together shall never come to pass.
Yet, i write -- as the morning dove does sing -- in the same mode and thought and frame as i meander most often in my dreams quite alone, lost along old paths that have changed, lost along new roads i do not understand. Sometimes, however, there appears in my dreams the lovliest, most loving, most caring, most thoughtful, most understanding girl whom i have ever seen, ever embraced, ever loved. In my dreams i seem ageless, as if i were in my 20s or 30s and my physical body seems neither a detriment nor an attribute and what things once were valued as necessary objects or possessions seem not at all important and may even determine my continued lostness. Although this wondrously beautiful & angelic maiden changes the way she looks -- the color & style of her hair, the kind of clothes she wears, the lovely features of her fair face -- i do believe with all my heart, my valentine heart, if i may so boldly commit to you, that she is the same person each & every time when in those blessed & beautiful dreams she suddenly, unexpectedly appears, like a true & wondrous vision in the mist of my meanderings. And, now, i believe that she is you, as unrequited and oh too boldly i submit in writing what i do believe to be true. And i apologize for writing such a strange submission but i have failed so miserably so many times -- well, four or five times actually in my meagre and worthless life -- to say the words of love i feel but have always been too afraid to speak. I have always been too afraid to commit my whole being to one person: 'une belle femme que j'adore déjà.'
It happened twice in Springfield, Ohio (my hometown). It happened at Miami University. It happened at the Furnace Creek Inn & Ranch in Death Valley, California (of all places). It happened in Great Falls, Montana. Or should i write: it did not happen. My words of love i could not say and so my words could never be heard for whom i adored. And it did not happen when a few years ago -- maybe it was in 2010 or 2011 -- when i emailed you to ask if i may photograph you. Your very thin, coquettish, capricious, carefree, alluringly beautiful & bewitching visions & pictures i must have seen at the Model Mayhem website. And then, at the last moment before you were to travel to Ohio, i backed out, using whatever lame excuse it was. Once again i failed to be about that person i write or more accurately pretend to be: a buttress, a real friend, an affectionate confidante, someone willing and wanting to make that commitment, at whatever level, let alone the kind of tender and warmhearted lover from one whose embrace is far more than i deserve or the soft kisses i imagine in my unreachable, unattainable, and undeserving day dreams.
Now, i think of you constantly. It is you who are that bright beam of sunlight and it is i on the other side of the window blinds sitting, waiting, pondering, posing. Yet, in that one particularly provocative & beautiful photoset i wish that all those little red rose petals which adorned the scene in which you modeled so very photosensually, so totally beautifully, so openly & uninhibitedly alluring & bewitching, i wish that all those little red rose petals were my words of love for you, written on tiny pieces of artwork to resemble Valentine heart-shaped flowers: my Valentine words of true love for you, my commitment, my devotion, my adoration, my honor for and of you, dear beautiful Emily Windsor.
There are other photosets of you which i adore with all my mind, soul and heart: "The Dock," "In My Yard," "The Forest," "Presenting Emily," to name but a few. And i hope there shall be more photosets which captivate my entranced eyes and capture my belonging soul. Your body is pure perfection. Your face is more lovely than a goddess if ever i were to see one. I know to offer this Valentine love letter to you and for you seems probably very dumb, of unredeeming merit, and definitely not nearly enough to say quite simple those three words i seemed never able to speak: "I love you." Dear Emily Windsor, i love you with all my mind, soul, spirit and heart. And if perchance my humble and gaily adoring words reach your beautiful blue eyes and there appears a tiny smile upon your most lovely, most beautiful face, then, that is all i need or ask.

Love forever, always, & eternally,
Your willowy love-dove, Dame Wilding
12-13 February 2019
------- i apologize for the length of my "comment" but this love letter is my Valentine to you, Emily Windsor, and i longingly wish you were my Valentine.
i am also a gaily thankful member at MetArt & EroticBeauty.

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