My Dearest, Darlingest Jonas Thompson

I'm entering a love letter contest, which makes me sound unbearably sappy and stereotypically "girly", but it is no ordinary love letter contest. This isn't necessarily love for another person, or even persons, but it can be for anything: an object, and idea, a style, a season. I'm writing mine to Jonas Geisel Thompson, otherwise known as Jonas, otherwise known as my bass. Guitar, that is. I named him Jonas before the Jonas stupid Brothers were famed and fortuned, and I just want to clarify that his name has NOTHING to do with them. I named him Jonas after the boy in the Giver, and I would have named him Giver, but that would have been a little strange, so I went for Jonas. Geisel is Dr Seuss' last name, Theodore Geisel, and he is an admirable man who was way ahead of his time. And Thompson is there to humble him, thus he is my humble and gentle giant, Jonas Geisel Thompson.
I digress.
Anyway, so I'm writing a letter to this love of mine, and here I am going to show you ghosts my first draft. Bear with me, as I haven't edited it very much, and I know it's heavy on the metaphors, so some of those might disappear. Anyway, such is editing, as you surely must know.
So here it is, for my darling Jonas. I was also debating what to address him as, because Jonas reminds people of the Jonas Brothers, and Geisel wouldn't work for the Dr Seuss trivia-inclined nor would it be aesthetically pleasing, and saying Mr Thompson makes it sound like I'm sleeping with a teacher. So I called him my dearest love. For he is, after all.
So here it is, for my darling Jonas.

To my Dearest Love,

You simply cannot know the depth of the feelings I have for you. They are deeper than music, deeper than your very voice, deeper than even I can understand.
I love to let my fingers dance over your neck, sometimes soft, slow, simple, other times, fast and intricate. I love the way your voice alters with every move I make, the way the smallest touch can change your sound. Your body belongs with mine, my arms wrapped around its middle, for warmth, for security, for passion. I feel you move as I move. I hear you sing as I sing.
The coils of string that hang from your head I finger with intention. There is purpose, and it makes me love you more, makes me hold you tighter, makes every moment worth living.
You are white snow that comforts me in the darkness of cold evenings spent with you. You are white clouds that interrupt the monotonously blue sky to add delicate artistry to its bold, childlike simplicity. You are warm, brown sand that fills the gaps between my toes when we are out together. You are a brown log that makes fire; how it warms me inside and fills me with joy. You are a red sunset, a watercolour sky that fills me with awe, with majesty, and with freedom. You are red blood that rushes through my veins and into my heart, and, like my heart, I swell every time you come to me.
I love to spend my time with you. There is none like you. You are mine and I am yours, we are each other’s, we are each other. We are together; we are one. I express myself through you. You are an instrument of beauty, of intellect, of passion and of art. You help me find myself. You are my instrument, and together, we are music.

Forever yours,
Callie