Here it is the middle of the night and I’m wide awake, my heart filled with you. Where do I go when I’m filled with these thoughts? Where do I put them? Who can I tell that will understand the aching I feel in my heart, the ache of waiting not of sorrow. So I again pour my heart out on a page. These are your pages and mine, the book of love, the book of longing filled with hours and days of waiting for you.